Miscommunication
by 3rdgal
Summary: Don is attacked and suffers an unusual injury. While he tries to recover, it's up to his team to find his attacker.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters and I don't make any money off of them.

**A/N:** Thanks as always to ritt, the world's best beta and sounding board!

"Move!"

The angry cry was punctuated by a gun barrel being jammed into Don's already broken ribs, forcing him from the black SUV. He hissed in pain as he stumbled out of the vehicle and just managed to keep his footing when another shove hit the rapidly forming bruise over his kidneys. He did bite back a cry this time, but still nosedived into the soft grass.

"Get up, you klutz!"

Don would have loved nothing more than to obey and then punch the guy's lights out, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He was too sore and too weak – and there was the _slight_ matter of him versus his five captors.

"I said get up!" The yell was accompanied by one of the men grabbing his right arm and hauling him to his feet.

_At least it wasn't my left arm,_ he thought to himself. _That one's definitely dislocated._

"Move!"

Another prod into his back and he started stumbling forward, his gaze cast downward at the lush green lawn. He dragged his eyes up and gasped as he recognized his surroundings. Don stopped walking and shook his head. "No," he weakly protested.

"I wasn't asking!"

Two of the men grabbed him and Don let himself go slack in their grip but they doggedly dragged him forward. He looked up at the five men – all wearing black jumpsuits and ski masks – and desperately shook his head.

"Argue all you want," the man who had been inflicting all the pain snarled. "But you _are_ going to send a message to your brother for us."

Don tried to twist out of the men's arms but they held him tight. The group reached their final destination and Don was knocked down, landing on his dislocated shoulder. He let a small cry of pain slip out but quickly clamped his mouth shut as he received a warning kick in one of his legs. "Stay put," an angry voice demanded.

Don obeyed, listening closely to the men as they discussed something. He couldn't make out the details, but they seemed to be having a heated argument about... no – he couldn't make that out. He knew, though, that whatever reason they had brought him here – to Charlie's house – couldn't be good. And they kept talking about using him to send Charlie a message, but considering he hadn't been told what it was and that they had already knocked him around quite a bit, Don was afraid he might not survive being their messenger.

_Whatever they're arguing about,_ he thought to himself, _they're not paying attention to me any more. If I'm really quiet..._ He sucked in a deep breath and silently pushed himself to his knees. Don checked to make sure the five men were still talking, and then managed to stand with only a quiet grunt of pain. He glanced over and was relieved to see that they still hadn't noticed his movements. He took a few silent steps toward the house in front of him, his heart stopping as he heard the lead captor's voice.

"Stop him!"

Don gritted his teeth against the overwhelming pain in his body and forced himself to run. He knew this house like the back of his hand and if he could just get inside he could get to the phone and call for help. Don reached his destination, smashed his fist through the pane of glass in the door and was reaching in to unlock it when he heard his captor right behind him. He looked over his left shoulder, trying to prepare to defend himself, when a blinding white pain exploded in his head. He dropped to the ground and clenched his eyes shut against the throbbing agony inside his skull, trying to curl up into a ball and protect his head and ribs, but a heavy pressure – a foot or a knee – in the small of his back prevented him from doing so.

"I told you not to run, you idiot," he heard the head captor's voice in his ear. "Now look what you made me do. I ought to..." He heard the man's voice trail off, muffled voices in the background and then something that sounded like 'someone's coming'. "Crap. Well, today is your lucky day. We're going to leave you alone now. But make sure you tell that brother of yours to..."

Don tried to listen – he really did – but the pain was too much. He felt himself slipping away before his captor had finished speaking.

--

"I told you it was a good movie," Charlie said as he strolled through the front door of his house.

"I didn't say it wouldn't be good – I said it would be expensive," Alan reminded him, adding with a grin, "Besides, I have my own in-house celebrity."

"Dad," Charlie groaned. "Enough. First Larry and Amita, now you…"

"It's true," the older man countered. "On TV… your name on the screen... And that reporter was absolutely fawning all over you. 'So tell me, Professor Eppes, you're saying that math really helped stop these drug shipments? Would you mind explaining to the viewers how that worked?' She was doing her best to flirt with you and you – as usual – seemed to be oblivious."

"I was _not_ oblivious," he protested. "I just have other interests right now. At least Don didn't rag on me too badly. I guess that vacation is really doing him good…" Charlie trailed off and stared toward the kitchen, a look of confusion on his face.

"What is it?" Alan asked.

"Do you smell that?" Charlie whispered.

Alan sniffed the air and shook his head. "Smell what?"

"Lilacs," Charlie mumbled as he cautiously crept toward the dining room.

"We have some in the back yard," Alan pointed out.

"Yes… but I can smell them so _strongly_."

Alan took another whiff of the evening air and nodded. "You're right, Charlie. I can smell them too. Did you leave a window open?"

"No."

"You're sure? Sometimes you can be a little forgetful."

"There was a ninety percent chance of rain tonight. I know I closed the windows before we left." Alan watched as the younger man disappeared through the dining room and into the kitchen. A moment later, he heard Charlie's anxious whisper, "Dad!"

Alan heard the panic in his son's voice and moved to join him in the kitchen. "Oh," he mouthed as he eyed the broken pane of glass in the back door and the shards scattered on the kitchen floor. _Someone tried to break in,_ he thought fearfully. He watched as Charlie picked up a cast iron skillet and took a step toward the door. "You're not serious?" he hissed quietly.

"You have a better idea?" Charlie shot back, his voice still a whisper.

Alan pointed back to the living room as a note of sarcasm rose in his voice. "I don't know – call the police, maybe?"

"You do that," the professor nodded. "But I want to check this out." Charlie, oblivious to his father's worry, proceeded to approach the back door and carefully peeked through the window. "Dad!" he yelled frantically, startling the other man. "Call an ambulance!"

Alan watched as his son dashed out the back door and then raced into the room to grab the cordless phone. As he called for help, he rushed back to the door and stepped onto the porch. His eyes teared up and he lost the ability to speak as he stared at the sight before him.

"Nine-one-one," the operator's voice came over the phone. "What is your emergency?"

"My son," he whispered as he looked at the prone figure next to Charlie. "He's been attacked." He lapsed into a silence as he watched Charlie nervously hover over Don's bloody, bruised, and crumpled form.

--

_You can open your eyes and tell me you're joking now, _Charlie silently begged his brother. Sure, he'd seen Don hurt before, but coming home to find him like this... It was like a knife had been plunged straight through his heart.

He leaned as close to his brother's body as he dared, his hands hovering uselessly as he didn't know where he could or even if he should touch Don. There was so much blood coming from a wound on the left side of his head and his left shoulder seemed to resting at an awkward angle to the rest of his body. Don was lying on his stomach with his right hand reaching toward the door, marred by bloody scrapes and gouges, the stoop light reflecting off of tiny slivers of glass embedded in his flesh.

"Don," Charlie breathed, his voice cracking on the one syllable. He had the urge to touch him, to do something – comfort him, ease his pain, make him open his eyes – but he forced himself to remain still. He had no way of knowing if there were any internal injuries or any possible damage to Don's neck or back and he wasn't about to chance doing something that would do permanent damage to his brother. _If he lives,_ the thought raced unbidden into his mind.

Charlie blinked back the tears forming in his eyes and tore his gaze from the injured man to look up at his father. "Dad," he whispered, trying to break Alan's trance. "Are they coming?"

Alan gave a barely perceptible nod as he sank to his knees beside his oldest son's body. He too, reached out as if to touch Don, finally dropping his hand and lightly resting his fingers on the back of Don's head, away from the bleeding wound. "Donny," he whispered shakily. "Can you hear me?"

Neither man was surprised when Don remained silent.

"Hang in there, son," Alan whispered plaintively. "Help will be here soon."

Charlie met his father's eyes and drew strength from his gaze. "He'll be okay," Charlie spoke, half question and half plea.

Alan opened his mouth to speak but then quickly clamped it shut. He mutely nodded as they heard the sound of sirens approaching in the distance.

Charlie swallowed and dropped his gaze back to his brother. "You _will_ be okay," he told him, his voice fierce. "You got that, Don?" After a moment's pause, a tear escaped and rolled down his cheek as he repeated in a soft whisper, "You'll be okay."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

"Charlie! Alan!" The two men looked up from the waiting room floor as Megan rushed through the Emergency Room doors. "How is he?"

"No word yet," Alan sighed as he ran a hand through his hair. "It's taking so long."

"That's because they're doing a good job – being thorough."

"I hope you're right," he said as he sagged against the back of the thinly cushioned chair.

"I know this is a difficult time," she began as she took a seat across from the two Eppes men. "But I need to get a statement from you both."

"I don't mind at all," Alan growled. "I want you to find whoever did this to my boy."

"We will," Megan vowed. "Tell me exactly what happened tonight."

"We went to a movie," Charlie spoke quietly. "We invited Don, but he said since his vacation was almost over, he just wanted a little alone time tonight." He smiled sadly. "We've been spending a lot of time together all week – meeting for lunch, dinner, going out bowling or to the batting cages..." The young man trailed off.

Megan gently squeezed his knee. "He was really enjoying that, too. He checked in with the office a couple of times during the week and he told me how much time you two were spending together. He was thrilled about that, Charlie."

"Thanks," he smiled. "Anyway, we got home tonight and walked into the house and I noticed that I could smell the lilacs in the house. I mean the scent is always _there_, but it was especially strong tonight."

"I thought he'd left a window open," Alan numbly whispered. "Just something as simple as that. I had no idea..."

"Of course not," Megan soothed. "It must have been horrible to find him like that."

"It was," Charlie nodded. "I saw him lying there and I froze. My mind went blank... I couldn't make myself comprehend what I was seeing."

"You didn't go blank, Charlie," Alan assured him. "You yelled at me to call for help."

"I did?" the younger man asked. "That's good to know."

"What did you see, Charlie?" Megan prodded. "Think hard."

"Don," he whispered. "Blood and Don. I'm sorry, but that's all I remember."

"Nothing in the house or the backyard?" she asked. "Nothing out of place or missing?"

"I wasn't thinking about that," Charlie snapped in frustration.

"Shh," she quieted him. "I don't mean to push, but I need everything you can remember so I can get the person or persons responsible for this."

"Right," Charlie nodded. "Sorry." He furrowed his brow and closed his eyes, trying to remember the yard. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing else."

"Alan?" she asked.

"The phone was where it always is, and broken glass was covering the kitchen floor. Charlie had grabbed a skillet to take with him, but that's all I remember."

"Glass?" Megan raised an eyebrow.

"The pane in the back door was broken," Alan told her. "There were pieces of glass all over the floor."

"I see. What about..." Megan trailed off, leaned across the open space and lowered her voice. "I know this is hard, but what about his injuries? Anything unusual?"

"You mean _besides_ the fact he was beaten to a pulp?" Charlie demanded angrily.

"Charlie-" Megan started.

"Yes," Alan spoke up. "There was something. Don's hand... his right hand..."

Charlie looked at his father and suddenly nodded. "That's right. It was badly cut and there were pieces of glass in it."

"Really?" Megan asked as she jotted that down in her notebook.

"Almost like..." Alan began.

"Like _he_ was the one trying to break in to our house," Charlie finished.

--

"We didn't call the FBI," the young beat cop insisted.

"I didn't say that you did," David replied, forcing himself to remain calm even as he sensed Colby's anger growing beside him. "But the man injured here tonight was an FBI agent. His father called us and, as a professional courtesy, we'd like to take a look around."

"I don't think so," the brash cop jeered. "I've heard all about how the Feds come in and butt into local investigations. That's not going to happen on my watch."

"You know what will happen if you don't let us in right now?" Colby growled, his voice and posture making the young man in front of him shift nervously.

"Are you making a threat?" the cop attempted to sound tough, but his voice had softened a great deal.

"No," Colby smiled coldly. "Not a threat – a promise."

David held up a hand in front of Colby and stepped closer to the young man. "You know Lieutenant Walker?" he queried.

"Everyone knows him," the cop responded. "He's legendary in LAPD."

"He's a friend of ours," David gave an easy smile. "Give him a call and he'll tell you to let us in."

"No need," a voice spoke up behind them. The three men turned and found Walker striding up to the front door. "Officer..." he paused to read the man's name tag, "...Wilson. This isn't a very nice way to treat our friends with the FBI."

"No sir," Wilson replied as he stepped aside to let Walker and the two agents pass. "Won't happen again, sir."

"Good," Walker drawled as he led David and Colby through the house. "I heard about this on the scanner. Injured man found at the Eppes residence? Suspected break in? I came over as soon as I could."

"We appreciate that," David smiled thankfully.

"How is Eppes, anyway?"

David sighed and shrugged. "We don't know. Megan's at the hospital with Charlie and Alan, but there's no word on his condition yet."

Walker, in a moment of uncharacteristic affection, lightly patted David's shoulder. "Eppes is a tough guy – he'll pull through, Sinclair. You can bet good money on that."

David nodded silently and the three men continued into the kitchen.

"Broken glass covering the floor here," Colby mused. "So someone was trying to break in." He knelt and scanned the smooth surface. "Good surface to lift footwear impressions from."

"We've got a few," a crime scene technician spoke up. "We've taken prints of the first responders for elimination, and we'll get some from the victim and his family, too."

"Sergeant Holmes," Walker nodded. "These are agents Granger and Sinclair. They work with the _victim_."

"Oh," he winced. "I didn't mean to seem so cold, but-"

"We're on the job, too," Colby reminded him. "We know all about keeping a distance. This one's just a little different for us."

"Right," Holmes nodded sympathetically. "Well, Agent Eppes was found on the back steps." He led the men through the back door, gesturing for them to step around the yellow evidence markers. "We won't know more until we can get your agent's statement and those of his family members, but it appears someone was trying to break into the house. I've got blood on the broken pane that I've sent in for analysis. Hopefully when we run the DNA through CODIS, we'll get a hit."

Colby looked around at the yard, his eyes picking out the fine disturbances in the grass. "Check this out," he called to the others as he knelt next to a large area of flattened grass. "Something – or someone – was lying here for a while." He gestured across the yard to the open gate that led to the back alley. "Grass is messed up all the way to the gate. Looks to me like someone was forced to come through the gate and up to the house. Then he – or she – was tossed onto the ground and made to lie there."

"So," David thought aloud. "What exactly does that mean?" Before anyone could answer, David's phone shrilled. "Sinclair."

"David, it's me."

"Megan," he sighed with relief as Colby quickly stood beside him. "Any word on Don?"

"No," she replied wearily. "They're still working on him."

"How are Charlie and Alan doing?"

"It's tough for them, but they're staying strong. I just got Don's stuff from the admitting nurse."

"Anything helpful?" David asked hopefully.

"I don't know that it's helpful, but there is something odd. Don was wearing track pants and a white tee shirt, but his pockets were empty."

"Empty?" David repeated.

"Yeah," Megan said in a puzzled tone. "No wallet, ID, badge, gun, cell phone, keys... nothing."

"Sounds like a robbery," David mused.

"Maybe," she hesitantly agreed. "But something feels _off_." She hesitated. "Don's right hand was in bad shape. From the way Charlie described it, it seems like _Don _is the one who broke the window in the back door."

"Why would he do that?" David wondered, waving off Colby's inquiring glance. "You think maybe he went over to Charlie's and got jumped on the way? Tried to break in to call for help?"

"I don't think so," Megan responded. "Charlie said they went to a movie and had asked Don to go with him, but he wanted to wrap up his vacation with some alone time. He knew they wouldn't be home, so why would he go there?"

"And why would he break in?" David added.

Megan sighed in frustration. "I guess we'll just have to wait for him to wake up and tell us."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Charlie closed his eyes and wished, not for the first time, that he could wake up and find out that this was all a bad dream. He took a deep breath and chastised himself for being so negative. _Don needs you,_ he reminded himself. _Snap out of it and be there for him._

He distracted himself by thinking back on the conversation he'd had with Megan after she'd left and returned to the office...

"_How is he?" she asked, her exhaustion obvious even through the cell phone reception._

"_Not good," he answered. "The doctor says that he's got two broken ribs, his right wrist is broken, his left shoulder is dislocated, and he's got some bad bruising on his kidneys."_

"_Oh, Charlie," she breathed. "Don's tough. He'll make it through this."_

"_I know, but..."_

"_But what?" she urged the younger man to continue._

"_It's the head injury that's of the most concern. The doctor says it's pretty severe." Charlie paused as he gathered his strength. "Apparently Don woke up in the ER but didn't respond to the people around him. The doctor says that he might have just been dazed at the time, or it might be a sign of some sort of... brain damage." He listened to absolute silence as Megan tried to digest what he'd just told her._

"_He'll be in our thoughts," she finally spoke. "When he does wake up, Charlie – and I mean, when – I need you to give me a call so we can get a statement from him."_

"_Okay," he agreed._

"_And Charlie?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_We'll get the people responsible," she growled angrily. "You can count on that."_

"Charlie?"

The younger man looked up as the sound of his father's voice brought him out of his thoughts. "Dad?"

Alan opened his mouth but nothing came out. He remained silent for a moment as he studied Charlie's face. "Talk to him," he finally whispered.

"Me?" Charlie asked in shock. "What would I... I mean, what should I..."

"Anything, Charlie. It's your voice he needs – not the words."

"What about you?" the younger man asked.

"I'll take the next round." Alan smiled warmly. "Go on, Charlie."

The youngest Eppes nodded and looked down at his big brother's face. "So, Don..." His gaze swept across Don's forehead and he visibly winced at the thick, white bandaging that concealed the vicious head wound. "You can wake up now, you know. Right? You do know that?" He leaned closer to the bed and held his hand over Don's left, wanting so badly to make contact, but so afraid of hurting his brother any further. "Can you hear me, bro? Can you open your eyes?" Charlie glanced across the bed at his father, who nodded in encouragement.

"This is really hard, Don," he whispered as he returned his focus to the man in the bed. He held his breath and placed his hand against Don's cheek, relief coursing through his veins when his big brother didn't cry out and no alarm sounded. "You're the strong one – the one I turn to. I need you now, Don. I can't deal with this alone." Charlie placed his other hand on the edge of the bed and rested his chin on top of it. "The doctors say that you'll wake up, but..." He trailed off, not wanting to voice the horrible thought.

"You're doing good, Charlie."

The younger man nodded, his eyes never leaving Don's bruised face. "They say that there's a chance of brain damage. I told them you're too strong for that, but they won't listen to me. You need to wake up and show them. You know I can't stand it when people won't listen to me." His rubbed his fingers up and down along Don's cheek. "You know that firsthand, don't you? So quit teasing me with this and wake up."

The beeping from the heart monitor sped up just a fraction and Charlie beamed at his father. They both leaned over Don and watched in anticipation as the dark lashes slowly fluttered.

"Come on, Donny," Alan cheered. "You can do it."

"Wake up, Don," Charlie joined in. "We're here for you."

The injured man's eyes finally cracked open and his brown eyes slid aimlessly around the room before landing on Charlie. After a moment, recognition appeared in Don's gaze and he opened his mouth to speak. "Ch-char..."

"I'm right here, bro."

"Char... lie." Don licked his dry, parched lips. "Good."

"Yeah," the younger man smiled. "Everything's good now that you're awake."

The injured man opened his lips to speak again. "Don... bad."

Charlie cast his father a look of worry and confusion. "You're not bad, Don," he soothed him, confused as to why Don was speaking about himself in the third person.

"Pain," the injured man mumbled. "Don." He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but his eyes drifted shut and he lapsed back into a deep sleep.

Charlie gave his father a panicked look and knew that they were both thinking the same thing. _Was Don suffering from brain damage?_ Charlie shook his head vehemently. "No," he stated, his voice loud and firm. "That's not possible."

"I hope to God you're right," Alan said as he pressed the call button to summon his son's doctor and nurse.

--

"Any word on Don's SUV?" Megan asked her coworker early the next morning.

"No," David sighed. "It's not here at the office, it's not at his apartment and it's not even in Charlie's neighborhood. I've got an APB out on it, but it's not looking too good at this point."

"Colby," she said as she swiveled her gaze to the other agent by her desk. "Anything new on the crime scene?"

"They're running the DNA on the blood," he said. "Of course Don's isn't in the system even if that _is_ his blood on the glass."

"Right," Megan nodded. "Anything else?"

"They eliminated all of the footwear impressions as either belonging to first responders or the Eppes family," Colby added. "So it doesn't look like anyone else was in that house." He glanced at a report in his hand, faxed over by Walker. "They've canvassed the neighbors but so far no one has remembered seeing anything."

"So the theory that they entered through the back gate in the alley would seem to fit," David stated. "I'm sure even the most laid-back neighbors would have noticed an unfamiliar car in front of the house that late at night."

"Right," Colby agreed. "No other evidence to speak of. They've done a thorough grid search of the yard and gotten nada."

"So," Megan thought aloud as she tapped a pen against her bottom lip. "It would seem that our best course of action would be to trace Don's movements last night. See where he was spotted when and see if we can pin down a last-to-see."

"I'll pull his cell and home phone records," Colby told her.

"Credit cards, too," she added.

"Right." Colby glanced at David and shrugged.

The other man sighed. "I'll check out his apartment." He shook his head and frowned. "This just seems so... invasive."

"It does," Megan replied sympathetically. "But we have to do it if we want to catch whoever is responsible."

"Yeah," David reluctantly agreed. "I know."

--

The tension in the small, private hospital room was off the charts. Don was propped up in his bed, eyes open and alert as the doctor, nurse, Charlie and Alan all looked on.

"Do you understand what I want you to do?" Doctor Mayfield asked.

Don sighed inwardly but nodded. _They think I'm a kid?_ he bitterly wondered. _This seems like the dumbest test in the world._

"Okay then, Don," Mayfield smiled. "Here we go. Remember… nod or shake your head for these first few questions – no speaking."

_Get on with it already!_ Don silently yelled. He nodded his understanding and waited for the first question.

"Is your name Don Eppes?"

Don nodded and tried to keep his growing frustration in check.

"Do you have a brother named Charlie?"

A nod and an impatient sigh.

"Good, Don. I know these questions seem childish, but please stay focused."

Upon seeing the look of worry on his father and brother's faces, he gave a solemn nod. _For you two, I will._

"Are you at your apartment right now?"

Don's brow creased and he shook his head. _What kind of question..._

"Do you work for the FBI?" Nod. "Do you currently live in New Mexico?" Head shake. "Are you in the hospital?" Nod.

The doctor made some notes in his chart and flipped the page. "Very good, Don. Now for the next part of your test I just want you to repeat the phrase I tell you, okay?"

Don nodded and glanced over at his family. He was alarmed to see a poorly hidden look of anxiety on their faces. He wanted to ask 'What's wrong?', but Mayfield was adamant that he not speak except during the test.

"Okay, first phrase: The dog ran."

"The dog... ran." Don swallowed against the dryness in his mouth, surprised it was affecting his voice so much.

"Very good. Next phrase: The dog chased the cat."

"The... cat chased... the dog." Don saw the doctor's expression falter and he looked over at his family. They, too, seemed worried about something.

"Can you try that one again, Don? The dog chased the cat."

"The cat chased..." He froze. _Wait, I meant to say dog. _"The cat..." _No, that's not right! What the-_

"That's okay, Don," Mayfield quickly soothed. "Let's try another one."

Don was so busy trying to figure out what was wrong with himself that he almost missed the next phrase.

"I drove my car."

Don took a deep breath and concentrated. "My drove car." His eyes widened and his heart sped up. _No, wait! That's not what I meant to say!_ He shook his head, wincing at the headache the movement set off. "Again," he insisted. "I... drove... car." _No, that wasn't right either!_ Fear the likes of which Don had never experienced began to creep into his heart. He looked over at his father and gave him a desperate look. "Alan?" he pleaded. _Wait, I wanted to say 'Dad'. I never call him Alan._ Don took a ragged breath and tried to calm his nerves.

"Shh, Donny," his father's voice sounded next to his ear. He looked up at the older man and fought back tears. "I know, son. I'm here. It's okay – it'll be okay." He rested his hand on Don's head, away from the injury. "One more test for the doctor, alright? Can you do that for me?"

Don nodded and lifted his heavily bandaged and splinted right hand, wiggling his fingers at his father. The older man read the request perfectly, gently gripping the digits in his hand. Don forced a smile on his face and looked back at the doctor, nodding for him to continue.

"The last test involves identifying common objects," Mayfield spoke slowly. "I'll point to something and you tell me what it is, okay?" At Don's nod he pointed to the television.

"TV."

The doctor pointed to a vase of flowers.

"Flowers." Don let out a small grin. "Lilacs."

"Show off," Alan mumbled affectionately.

Don felt his racing heart calm down. _Maybe things aren't as bad as I thought._

The doctor pointed to the clock hanging on the wall.

"Alarm." Don's breathing hitched. _No, that's a clock._ "Alarm." He squeezed his father's hand and fearfully shook his head. _What's wrong with me? _he wondered to himself. _Quit being a baby, Eppes! You can do this. Concentrate!_ Don took a deep breath and opened his mouth, consciously forming the sounds as he spoke. "Alarm." _No!_

Don could stand it no longer and collapsed against his father. He felt hot tears burning in his eyes and was ashamed as they rolled down his cheeks. "Alan," he cried, his heart wrenching at the word.

"I'm here, Donny." Alan's voice was gentle and soft against his ear.

Don felt his father's arms slip around his shoulders, loosely embracing him. He knew his father was being mindful of his injuries but right then Don didn't care about physical pain – nothing could be worse than the emotional anguish he was feeling. "Tighter," he begged, his distraught mind not even registering he'd spoken the right word.

Alan obeyed and held the trembling man against his chest. "Calm down, son. We'll get through this together."

"Charlie," Don whispered.

"I'm right here, bro." Another pair of arms slipped around his shoulders and Don felt his brother's breath – warm and soothing – against his cheek. "Shh, Don. We're right here."

Don wanted to tell them that he was scared, but didn't – partly because it was against his nature and partly because he was terrified of what might come out of his mouth. Instead, he leaned into their touch and repeated the one word he knew he could say correctly. "Charlie, Charlie, Charlie..."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

"Aphasia?" Megan repeated the unfamiliar word.

"Broca's aphasia, to be precise." Charlie held his head in his hands as he sat with Megan in the hospital cafeteria.

"So Don can't communicate?"

"He can try," Charlie told her. "Sometimes he may get the words right, but they'll be in the completely incorrect order. He may use the wrong word for something – identify a bed as a couch. It's hard to understand him, if you even can at all."

"What about written communication?" Megan suggested hopefully.

"No," the professor shook his head. "Written and oral communications are both affected by his brain injury."

"But he can understand us?"

"Right. That's what makes it so frustrating for him. He comprehends everything you say to him and he knows what he wants to say, but the words aren't there." He looked up at Megan. "You see now why I said a statement is out of the question?"

"I know it's hard for him-"

"No!" Charlie snapped. "You have no idea. You weren't here this morning when he found out."

She held up her hands. "You're right – I don't know. But Charlie, we need to know what happened."

"And I'm telling you that he _can't_ tell you that. All that will happen is that he'll get frustrated and upset, which isn't good for his recovery." He met the female agent's unwavering gaze and eventually relented. "A compromise?" She gestured for him to continue. "Give him until tomorrow afternoon. He'll have had a full day to adjust and hopefully we'll have some sort of treatment set up for him."

"Okay," she smiled softly. "I think that will work." Megan covered Charlie's hands with her own. "What's the prognosis for recovery?"

Charlie let out a deep sigh and shook his head. "Typically all the patient can do is to learn coping strategies and try to regain the most basic speech abilities. Don's doctor is hopeful that the residual swelling on his brain is the cause of this and that as the swelling fades, so will the aphasia."

"But he's not certain of that."

"No," the young man answered wearily.

"So it could be..." she trailed off as Charlie paled.

"Permanent," he finished in a barely audible whisper.

--

Charlie and Alan arrived at the hospital early the next morning, stopping by the nurse's station to check with Don's nurse.

"He had a bit of a rough night last night," she told them. "I think he was in some pain but he wouldn't tell us. I mean he wouldn't even _attempt_ to tell us. He just tossed and turned and ignored our questions."

"We'll have a talk with him about that," Alan assured her.

"Good," she beamed at the older man. "He needs to know that if he'll just _try_ to communicate, we can decipher a lot of what he's saying. And, if not, there's always nodding to yes or no questions."

"I think that makes him feel like a child," Charlie threw in his two cents worth.

"I understand that," she nodded. "But we can't keep him comfortable if he won't even try."

"Don't worry," Alan said. "We'll take care of it."

The two men said goodbye and walked down the hallway to Don's room. They quietly slipped in and were pleased to see that Don seemed to be resting comfortably. Alan sank into the chair on Don's right side and Charlie occupied the one on the left. They were perfectly content to sit and watch Don until his eyes slid open about half an hour later.

"Don?" Charlie eagerly called. "You awake now, bro?"

The injured man looked at Charlie and silently nodded.

"How are you feeling?"

He shrugged and moved his gaze away from his brother's face, coming to land on Alan instead.

"So… that shrug," Alan began as he gestured at Don. "Is that a yes for pain?"

Don sighed and waved his hand in an 'it's not important' gesture.

"Donny," Alan pressed. "You have to work with us. I know talking is hard for you right now, but you can nod and shake your head just fine. I know you can understand so please answer when we ask you something."

Don rolled his eyes and reluctantly nodded.

"Thank you," Alan smiled at him. "Now, as for pain – nod for yes or shake your head for no."

After a moment of hesitation Don gave a small nod.

"Oh, Donny," Alan said sadly. "I'll have the nurse bring you something for it, okay? Just hang in there for me."

Don's attention was drawn back to Charlie as he felt his brother's hand on his knee. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"You need to try speaking, Don," Charlie told him. "I know it's hard and extremely frustrating, but you need to keep trying and practicing. It'll help reform the neural pathways and your speech will improve." At Don's disgusted and doubtful look, Charlie leaned in closer and met his brother's eyes. "Don't you trust me, Don?" _Okay, that's a cheap shot,_ Charlie thought to himself. _But if Don's going to be stubborn, I'll do whatever I have to do._

"Charlie," Don whispered – his way of vocalizing his trust.

"Thanks, Don." He smiled and patted his brother's knee. "So, can you try to verbalize an answer to Dad's question? Are you in pain?"

"Yes," the injured man replied after a long pause. "Bad no."

"So, you _are_ in pain, but it's not too bad right now?" Charlie translated.

Don's face lit up and he nodded. "Charlie," he said by way of confirmation.

"Tell you what," Alan spoke up. "I'm going to grab some coffee for me and tea for your brother and I'll ask the nurse to bring you something for the pain. That sound okay, Don?"

"Yes," Don answered. His brow furrowed and he opened his mouth and concentrated. "A...lan." Don's expression dissolved into one of despair as he again called his father by the wrong name.

"That's okay, son." Alan leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "I know you're just rubbing this in because of the time I grounded you for calling me and your mother by our first names during high school."

Don couldn't help it – as down as he felt, his father had made a great joke – so he let out a loud laugh that set Alan and Charlie to giggling as well.

"It's good to hear your laughter again," Alan said as he left the room, shutting the door behind him to give the two brothers some privacy.

"So," Charlie piped up. "Megan wants to come by and see you this afternoon. She wants to get your statement."

"No," Don shook his head. "Not good... not real... know I... can't."

"I know it'll be hard, but she insists that she needs to so they can catch whoever did this to you."

Don's face clouded in confusion. "Did, did... house Charlie... pain did... know not... did."

Charlie held back a sigh as he ran Don's words through his mind. "Be patient with me here, Don. I'm a little confused. You're saying that you know you got hurt at my house?" Don shrugged with a confused look on his face. "Can you try again for me? Maybe use some gestures, too?"

Don chewed on his bottom lip and slowly nodded. "Did... pain did... know... not." His face twisted in extreme concentration and he finally pointed to the bandage on his head. "Empty."

Realization dawned on Charlie. "You don't remember what happened?"

Don nodded and wearily sank into his pillows. He gave his brother a tired smile. "Charlie."

"Glad to be of service, bro." The younger man moved his hand to Don's cheek. "And I'm not going anywhere, you got that?"

"Charlie," Don whispered happily as he drifted to sleep.

The young man watched Don relax, the tension bleeding from his face. The doctor and nurses had warned them that Don would tire easily due to the severity of his injuries and the energy it took to try to speak, but he still couldn't get used to seeing his brother _that_ tired. He'd only spoken thirty-two words, but the way he crashed afterwards made it seem like he'd run a marathon.

"It'll get better," Charlie whispered softly, unsure of whom he was trying to convince. "It _has_ to get better."

--

Colby tossed a file onto Megan's desk as he and David met her after lunch to give their reports. "The DNA from the broken glass came up empty," Colby told her. "So it probably is Don's. The question now is why was he trying to break in."

"That would be the question," she agreed. "So, no other evidence of any use?"

"Zip, zero, zilch," he spat in frustration.

"Why don't you key the specifics of the crime into NCIC and see if you get any hits?"

"Sure," he replied. "I'm desperate enough to try anything at this point."

"Good." Megan turned her attention to the other man at her desk. "David?"

"Still no luck finding Don's car. No witnesses have called in, and no towing companies have reported finding a vehicle matching the description."

"It's got to be somewhere," Megan sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stall her rapidly forming migraine. "I mean a huge, black, government-issue SUV can't just disappear in the middle of LA, right?"

"You wouldn't think so," David concurred. "I'll resend the APB to agencies at a farther radius than before. Maybe if someone took it out of the city we'll get a hit."

"Sounds good," Megan told him as she checked her watch. "I've got a meeting with Don this afternoon to get – _try_ to get – his statement."

"We'll call you if anything comes up," Colby promised her. "Tell Don we said hi, and to get better and get back soon."

"Yeah," David grinned. "Tell him his desk is officially up for grabs if he's not back within the next two weeks."

"You two..." Megan trailed off and shook her head fondly.

"Gotta love us," Colby gave her his best grin.

Megan chuckled and shot back, "Only because no one else will."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

"Charles!" Larry exclaimed excitedly. "What a joyous surprise!"

"Good to see you, too, Larry," the younger man smiled.

"How is Don faring?"

"He's been better. The aphasia – it's tough on all of us."

"I can imagine," Larry nodded thoughtfully. "I've taken the liberty of requesting that an old colleague of mine send me some literature that he has compiled on aphasia. I'll let you know when the package arrives."

"That means a lot to me, Larry," Charlie replied. "Don will appreciate it, too."

"If there is anything else I can do..."

"I won't hesitate to ask, I promise."

"Good," Larry said with a firm nod. "May I inquire as to why you are here today? I thought you had requested leave to help care for Don."

"I did," Charlie nodded. "But he tires so easily and I need something to help distract me when it all gets too overwhelming. I thought I'd pick up some of my research notes and keep them to work on at the hospital."

"Ah, yes. That is an excellent idea, Charles." Larry suddenly frowned. "What about the consultation for the police department? Are you taking leave from that, too?"

"Oh yeah," the young professor nodded. "My sole focus will be on Don's recovery. Lieutenant Walker wasn't too pleased when I told him that, but Don's family. Family first."

"Of course," Larry nodded in agreement.

"I mean, I know there's a lot of gang activity I can help track down, but I've already done my fair share for the LAPD. I'll gladly help out again but only after I feel Don is in a good place, recovery-wise."

"No need to rationalize your actions, Charles. Don should come first – I would expect no less of you."

"Thanks," the younger man whispered as he slid his notes into his bag and looked up at Larry. "Seriously, I appreciate everything you're doing for me." He moved to the door and paused, turning to give the physicist one last warm look. "Let me know when that package comes in, okay?"

"Of course, Charles. Tell Don he's in my thoughts."

"I will," Charlie smiled and disappeared through the office door.

--

"We got a hit on the APB," David triumphantly informed Colby.

"No way," he replied as he tossed the useless evidence report aside. "Where?"

"Outside of a gym about ten minutes from Don's apartment."

"A gym?" Colby frowned. "Why would he go to a gym? He's got total access to the FBI's facilities."

"Beats me," David shrugged. "But I say we get down there and find out."

They were in the car and on their way moments later, when Colby spoke again. "So, this asia thing-"

"_Aphasia,_" David corrected him.

"Right. How bad do you think it really is? I mean… long term?"

"I don't know," the other agent sighed. "I'm hoping Megan will have a good idea after she speaks to the Eppes today."

"Seems a pity that someone as strong as Don might be forced to quit because of something as stupid as this." Colby shook his head at David's caustic look. "No, that didn't come out right. It's just... a disease? Brain injury, whatever... I always thought Don – or any of us, for that matter – would go out in a much more violent fashion."

"You give that a lot of thought, do you?" David inquired as he parked their SUV in front of Steve's Gym.

"Never mind," he sighed. "I was just... forget it." He opened the door and slid out.

The two agents strode into the gym, up to the front desk, and flashed their badges at the pretty, young, blond receptionist.

"FBI?" she asked eagerly. "We have a great discount for-"

"Do I look like I need a gym?" Colby flirted. Upon seeing David's disapproving look, he grew solemn. "I'm Special Agent Granger and this is Special Agent Sinclair."

"Sally Graves," she replied as she eyed Colby and grinned. "Well, Agent Granger, I know some agents like to have a _private_ place to work out."

David scanned the thirty some-odd people milling about the facility. "You call this private?"

"Oh no," she smiled and shook her head. "But we're twenty-four hours and late at night we're a ghost town."

"I see," David responded. "Well, that might actually be just the information we're looking for."

"Really? I'm always glad to help the boys in blue... or, well..."

"We wear blue, too," Colby winked. "We just wear it better."

Sally chuckled and gave him a flirty grin before looking back to David. "Seriously, what can I help you two with?"

"Do you have a client – he's FBI, too – by the name of Don Eppes?"

"We're really not supposed to give out client names..." she said as she glanced around. "But... Say, would you like a tour of the facilities?"

The two agents took the hint and allowed the blond woman to lead them through the workout areas and into a locker room. Once there, she made sure no one else was present and then locked the door. "Agent Eppes has his very own locker here."

"You know him that well?" David asked in surprise.

"Well," Sally blushed. "He _is_ quite the looker." She grew serious and continued leading them through the maze of lockers. "And I was working the overnight shift when he first joined. He always made me feel that much safer at night, you know?"

"He's that kind of guy," David agreed, ignoring the mocking look Colby gave him.

"Anyway, his locker is right down..." she trailed off and rushed to the end of a row. "Yes, right here." Sally produced a key from her pocket and nervously glanced at the two agents. "You're sure this is legal? Okay with him?"

"He'll be fine with it," David assured her.

"Okay." she twisted the key and opened the locker, letting out a small gasp.

"Step away, please, Sally," Colby said as he gently grabbed her elbow and moved her back.

"What?" she asked as she stared at the contents. "But... I don't think he's been here for a couple of days. Wouldn't he need those at work?"

"Yes, ma'am," David nodded as he eyed Don's wallet, badge, gun, keys and cell phone. "He certainly would."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Megan spotted Charlie waiting for her in the hallway and frowned as he rushed to meet her.

"Charlie?" she asked with concern. "Is everything alright? Don didn't take a turn for the worse, did he?"

"No," he quickly assured her. "I just wanted to go over some things with you before you talk to him."

"Oh," she sighed in relief. "Sure thing, Charlie. What's up?"

"I just wanted to make sure that you understand – I mean, _really_ understand – that most of what he says isn't going to make any sense. I've gotten kind of good at interpreting what he's saying, but even I only get about half of it right. Whenever possible, yes or no questions are better."

"Okay, I'll keep that in mind."

"He tires very quickly and even more so as he gets frustrated." He looked at her and waited until she indicated that she understood. "He doesn't seem to remember anything about what happened, so he's bound to get frustrated because he knows how important this is."

"Got it. So no pushing him, right?"

Charlie gave her a thankful grin. "Yes, exactly. The most important thing, in my opinion, is to keep in mind that he _does_ understand what you're saying. So please – no matter what – please don't talk about him like he's a child or like he's not there."

"Never," Megan swore to him.

"Good," Charlie nodded in approval. "Oh, and when I say he's had enough... I mean it – the interview is over."

"Of course."

"Then come with me." Charlie led her down the hallway and lightly tapped on Don's door.

"Come in," Alan called.

The young man led Megan into the room and took his seat at the head of the hospital bed. She stood and looked at Don, her heart aching at the numerous bandages, wires, and tubing sprouting from his body. _Oh, Don,_ she thought sadly. _What happened to you?_

"Hey, Don," she beamed as she took a seat in the empty chair at the foot of the bed – placed there just for her, she suspected. She glanced back and forth between Don and his family, each one sitting on either side of him. "Are you doing okay?"

Don shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well, I know Charlie and your father are taking good care of you."

"Charlie," Don repeated with a smile on his face. He concentrated and slowly formed the next words, "Alan. Good."

"Yes, they are," Megan agreed. "Well, as much as I'd love to chitchat, I do have some stuff I need to ask you. Is that okay, Don?"

The injured man darted a quick glance to Charlie, almost as if to make sure he was ready, too, and then nodded to Megan.

"Do you remember being attacked?" she asked softly.

Don nodded and shook his head, finally shrugging. "Pain. House Charlie... pain hurt."

"So you remember being hurt at Charlie's house? Do you know if that was where someone hurt you, or if that's just where you remember winding up?"

Don gave her a nervous, confused expression. "Pain, house Charlie," he repeated again, more slowly.

Megan glanced at Charlie who was intently studying Don's face. "So you're not sure?" he prodded.

"Charlie," Don nodded.

The younger man glanced at Megan and smiled. "That's his way of saying, 'You got it'."

"Appropriate," she teased the young genius. "Don, did you go to Charlie's house?"

Don hesitated. "There." He frowned and shook his head. "Was... there."

"Did someone take you there?" Megan dug for more information.

"Men," he said. "Men... house pain. Pain Don... bad."

"Some men took you there?" she clarified.

"Maybe," Don nodded.

"And hurt you there?"

"Pain house," he sighed, looking at Charlie for help in clarifying his response.

"Sorry, bro," Charlie whispered as he soothingly rubbed Don's shoulder. "I'm not sure of that one."

"That's okay," Megan assured them both. "Did you know these men before they hurt you?" Don shook his head. "How many were there?"

"One." Don quickly shook his head. "Twenty-two. Seventeen." He turned to Charlie with a complete look of despair on his face.

Megan held back a sigh and smiled encouragingly. "Hey, Don, try this for me." At his nod she continued. "See if you can picture it in your head and point to the men. Can you do that?"

Don nodded and obediently closed his eyes. His face tensed and he raised his right hand. He jabbed it once toward his right, again toward his right, once toward the foot of the bed, again, again... He opened his eyes and looked hopefully at Megan.

"Five," she told him. "That was great, Don – very helpful. Now, do you remember where you went that day, after you talked to Charlie about the movie?"

"Alone," Don whispered. "Alone... movie not."

"Right," Charlie encouraged him. "You didn't go because you said you wanted some alone time."

Don smiled, pleased that he seemed to have communicated that point efficiently.

"Don," Megan called, waiting until he was looking at her again. "Do you know where you went?"

His brow furrowed as he tried to remember. "Pretty... quiet... alone. Hard... heavy." He gritted his teeth in frustration and finally curled his right arm upwards to flex his bicep. "Hard."

"Muscles? Hard muscles?" Megan thought for a minute. "A gym? You went to a gym?"

Don nodded and sank into his pillows, panting for breath.

"Do you remember what happened there?" Megan pressed, much to Charlie's displeasure.

"Empty," Don said quietly. He weakly raised his right arm and awkwardly tapped his temple. "Empty."

"That's all he remembers, Megan," Charlie translated. He gave her a look that she wanted to ignore, but she _had_ made a deal with him.

"Thanks, Don," she smiled, rising from the chair. "You did great. Oh, and Colby and David said to tell you hi and to get better soon. There's going to be a knock-down drag-out over who gets your desk if you don't hurry up and get back."

He laughed at her words, his eyes holding that familiar twinkle for the first time since Megan had entered the room. He raised a hand to say goodbye and was fast asleep before she left. Once outside Megan leaned against the wall and covered her face in her hands as the truth slammed into her – that Don might never be returning to the FBI.

--

"That didn't go too badly," Charlie whispered over Don's sleeping form to his father.

"I know," Alan agreed as he watched the rise and fall of his oldest son's chest. "I just hate seeing how tough this is on him."

"Yeah," the younger man whispered. He sat in silence as he studied his brother's body. The dislocated shoulder had been set and bound and Mayfield had reported that it was healing nicely. Don's right wrist was also healing quite well, which was why Charlie had to continuously remind Don not to scratch at the thick, white bandaging. The bruising on the kidneys was still deep and painful, but not severe enough to affect his renal function or have any long term effects. The broken ribs were mending as well, but still caused Don a great deal of pain. It was hard to watch his brother's face when the medications started to wear off, because the agony from the bruising and the broken ribs would make him restlessly shift in the bed, silently imploring his family to make it stop.

Charlie reached out and placed a hand on Don's hip, lightly rubbing his thumb across the rough material of the hospital gown in a soothing movement. He allowed his gaze to travel to Don's face, and closed his eyes as he took in the layers of gauze cocooning Don's head. Charlie was confident that his brother would bounce back from all of his injuries except this one. And he couldn't bear to think what life would be like for his strong, intelligent, always in control big brother if he didn't regain the ability to communicate. He might not always read people accurately, but the young genius had noticed the look of hopelessness in Megan's eyes right before she left, which had scared him almost more than anything else about the whole, horrible situation.

"Charlie?"

The young man looked up at the sound of his father's voice. "Sorry," he responded. "Just thinking."

"Yeah," Alan nodded wearily. "I've been doing a lot of that, too." He lightly rubbed Don's upper arm, smiling as Don let out a contented sigh. "I want to know who did this to your brother," he whispered, his voice hard and cold. "And I want them to pay."

"Megan will catch them, Dad. She wants them as badly as we do."

"Do you think..." Alan trailed off and shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?" Charlie insisted as he leaned forward in the chair.

"Nothing, Charlie."

"Talk to me, Dad." The young genius stared intently at his father until the older man reluctantly met his gaze. "_Please._"

"Do you think maybe he got hurt and..." Alan's voice broke with emotion and he took a deep breath to calm himself. "And that maybe he instinctively came to the house looking for us to help?"

"We don't know that's what happened," Charlie quietly reminded him.

"Still... The thought of your brother needing help so badly that he tried to break in and we weren't there for him..." The older man swiped a hand across his face. "That's a lot of guilt to live with."

"_What?_" Charlie asked in shock. "He knew we weren't home, Dad. He knew about the movie, remember?"

"Of course," Alan snapped. "But I'm talking about instinct, son. Pure instinct that drove him to seek us out and we weren't there for him."

"You can't think like that," Charlie begged. "Especially considering we_ don't_ know what happened."

"I suppose," the older man sighed in defeat.

"You know what is important, Dad? That we're here for him now – and he knows it. Just keep telling yourself that and everything else will fall into place." In a gesture reminiscent of his brother, Charlie stretched his hand over Don and wiggled his fingers, silently asking his father to reach out to him. Alan slipped his hand into his youngest son's and held on for dear life. "See?" the young professor asked, pointedly looking at their joined hands where they lightly rested on Don's stomach. "We're together now – and that's all that matters."

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Megan returned to the office later that afternoon, feeling depressed and hopeless. Seeing Colby and David waiting at her desk and wearing triumphant grins on their faces, she tried to mask her feelings and returned the smile. "Good news, I take it?"

"Oh yeah," Colby nodded. "We found Don's car and his personal belongings." He gestured to a paper evidence bag on the desk. "Everything's there, so robbery is out as a motive."

"That's not good news," Megan sighed as she collapsed into her chair and tucked her long hair behind her ears. "It means where back to square one in finding out _why_ Don was attacked, much less who did it."

"Ruling out a motive can be just as important as finding one," Colby countered. "You should know that."

_Yeah,_ Megan wearily thought. _I should._ "Sorry, guys. Long day." She gave the two men an apologetic smile and nodded. "That is good news."

"We found his SUV at Steve's Gym," David told her. "Crime scene techs are checking it out, but it didn't look like anything was out of place. Still, I'm hoping we get some sort of lead. And Sally – the girl who works at the gym – is supposed to be setting up an interview for us with the girl who works the night shift. Maybe she'll have gotten a look at the men responsible for this. I mean, an FBI agent can't just be viciously attacked and his assailants disappear into thin air, right?"

"Hold on – did you say gym?" she asked excitedly as she sat up in her chair. At David's nod, she exclaimed, "That's great! It means that Don was right."

"He told you about the gym?" David asked, his eyebrows arching upwards.

"Well, his speech was really broken, but he mentioned that he'd gone to a gym, yeah." Megan shook her head and gazed at the floor. "Guys, he's..." She didn't know the best words to use, so she just let the sentence hang in the air.

"That bad?" Colby asked gently.

Megan blinked back the sudden moisture in her eyes before looking up to meet Colby's stare. "It's bad. His speech is so broken that I could barely understand anything he said. Charlie translated some of it, but even he seems baffled a lot of the time."

"Damn," David sighed. "What's the prognosis, though? I mean, he can get better, right?"

The female agent took a deep breath and chewed on her fingernail. "They're hoping it's the residual swelling from the head injury that's causing it. It's putting pressure on his left temporal lobe, which is what causes the aphasia."

"So when the swelling goes down, it goes away?" Colby inquired.

"Hopefully," Megan nodded. "But... It could be due to actual damage to the brain cells and if that's the case..."

"Don won't be coming back," David finished.

"This sucks!" Colby suddenly exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone in the bullpen. His friends motioned for him to lower his voice, so he did by a small fraction. "It does, though. You know what I say? I say that Don _will_ get better. And I say that us catching his attackers is the first step in that process." He gave his coworkers a hard look. "Agreed?"

"You bet," David said fiercely.

Megan smiled, feeling her spirits lift for the first time that day. "Totally."

--

"Any problems?" the thin man in the skullcap asked.

"Nah, man," his heavy set companion answered with a sniff as he slid into the black SUV. "Delivery on time. Went real smooth."

"No surprises?" the first man asked again.

"Nah, man. I'm telling you, whaling on the guy's bro worked. He's not in our business anymore."

"Good," Skullcap smiled, showing a mouth full of gold teeth. "Teach that teacher to mess in our operations."

"What's he thinking, going on TV like that? Dumb. Real dumb."

"S'all about the ego, man. And he got his deflated big time."

The heavy set man gave a wicked grin. "Sure did."

"Now that things are back to normal, let's go get the distribution and delivery schedule down." He gave a wide grin. "Time to make the LAPD look like the idiots they are."

--

"Shh, Donny," Alan pleaded. "It's okay, son. Just hang in there."

Don tossed his head on the pillow, a low moan escaping his lips as sweat rolled down his face. "Car," he mumbled.

"Shh," Alan repeated as he accepted a cool, wet cloth from his youngest son. He tenderly wiped Don's face with it and stroked his son's hair with his other hand. "Shh. You'll feel better soon." He prayed that his words were true.

"The fever's not going down," Charlie worried. "His temperature hasn't even dropped a full degree since they gave him something for it while ago. Should I call the nurse?"

"Couldn't hurt," Alan murmured as he continued bathing Don's face. He watched Charlie press the call button while he maintained a steady stream of words in his oldest son's ear. "Easy, Donny. That's it – relax for me."

"All," Don mumbled in response. "Day... no... hall, all."

Alan looked up at Charlie who shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, Dad. The aphasia seems to be getting worse."

"I'm afraid that you're right," the nurse – Tanya – said as she entered the room. She pushed another medication through Don's IV and frowned sympathetically at his flushed face. "The fever is increasing the swelling on his brain, so it's making the symptoms of the aphasia worse."

"Can he still understand us?" Charlie inquired hopefully.

"The fever's affecting his comprehension right now, but in essence he still does understand you. The aphasia hasn't worsened in that respect."

"Thank God," the young man whispered as he nodded at his brother's IV. "What you just gave him – that should help soon?"

"Yes," she replied. "It should. It will also help if you and your father will keep bathing him down. The cool cloths will ease his discomfort, and the knowledge that his family is with him will work wonders."

"Always," Charlie stated. "Thanks." He watched the nurse leave and joined his father at Don's side. Picking up a cloth and wringing the excess moisture out, he lightly began wiping Don's neck and chest. "Hang in there, bro."

"Char...lie."

The young man's face lit up. "That's right, Don. I'm here and so is Dad. You just rest and you'll feel better soon."

"Not," Don murmured. "Hot not. Don... say... me ran."

"Oh, Don," Charlie whispered sadly, feeling completely helpless. He looked up at his father and frowned. "I don't have any idea what that means."

The older man paused in his ministrations to place a firm hand on Charlie's shoulder. "I know, son. But remember, he _does_ understand you."

"Right," the younger man nodded. Moving his chair closer to the bed, he took a seat and rewet his cloth. Charlie turned his attention back to his brother, soothing his fevered flesh with gentle touches. "I'm here. We're here, Don. Just close your eyes and listen to my voice – you always did say I could put you to sleep." His heart soared when a faint smile appeared on Don's face. "Just relax. I'll tell you all about what happened to Larry in one of his classes last week, but you can't tell him, okay? You see, there was this rather attractive young student..."

A while later, Charlie had finished his story and Don was resting peacefully, his temperature still too high, but lower than before. The professor smiled at his father. "Thanks, Dad."

"Don't thank me, Charlie. All I did was give you a push in the right direction." Alan's eyes twinkled in amusement as he fought back a laugh. "Did Larry _really_-"

"Oh yeah," Charlie grinned. "He really did."

--

"In here," Sally told Colby as she led him to the employee break room. "I've told the rest of my staff that this area is off limits until further notice, so take your time."

"Thanks Sally." Colby smiled at her and put his hand on the door knob, pausing when the pretty blond placed a hand on his forearm.

"Catch the creeps that did this, okay? Everyone around here was fond of Agent Eppes."

"We will," Colby stated firmly. "Count on that." Sally nodded and walked away, leaving Colby alone in front of the break room door. He quietly pushed it open and scanned the interior before him, his eyes coming to rest on a petite brunette with dark circles under her eyes. "Elizabeth Rogers?"

The woman shakily nodded as she twirled a strand of hair around her finger. "That's me," she said, her voice barely audible.

Colby gave her his warmest, most reassuring smile as he took the seat across from her. "I'm Special Agent Granger with the FBI."

"Yeah," she answered. "Sally told me you were coming. I would have been here sooner, but I was on vacation." She let go of her hair and moved her hand to her mouth, running a finger along her bottom lip. "So, this is about Agent Eppes?"

"Right," the muscular man nodded. "We think you were the last person to see him before he was attacked. Do you remember seeing him that night?"

"I must have," she whispered. "He had to have signed in at the desk."

"You _must_ have?" Colby repeated skeptically. "You don't remember specifically?"

"Well, there were a lot of people-"

"Your whole six hour shift, you signed in..." he paused to check his notes. "Ten people. And Agent Eppes was the only person who signed in between eight-thirty and nine-fifteen."

"I'm not so good with faces," she offered.

"Ms. Rogers, I think you're lying to me. Do you know how serious it is to lie to a federal agent?"

Her eyes widened and she shook her head. "It's the truth."

Colby leaned even closer to her and adopted a cold, steely look in his hazel eyes. "Do you know what happened to Agent Eppes – my _friend_ – that night after he left here? Do you?" She shook her head and avoided his eyes. "He was beaten to a pulp. And I think someone grabbed him while he was here. Now, either you saw something or you're in on it, but either way you had better tell me or else."

"I'd never hurt him, I swear!" Elizabeth's eyes filled with tears that started flowing down her cheeks. "But... I..." She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"But you what?" Colby pressed.

"I did make a mistake." Wiping another tear from her eye, she took a deep breath and continued. "He did sign in with me and about fifteen minutes later I went out for a smoke. I'm not supposed to leave the desk without someone to watch it, but my relief was running late and I had to get out. So I left the desk unattended."

Colby leaned back in his chair and harshly studied the distraught woman seated in front of him. "So anybody could have walked in off the street that night and gone straight back to the workout area?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't think it was odd that Don left without saying goodbye to you or checking to make sure that you were okay?"

"I didn't..." she trailed off. "I didn't think of that."

Colby snorted in disgust and quickly rose from the chair. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Rogers."

"You're not going to tell Sally, are you? She'll fire me for sure."

He looked back over his shoulder, his gaze narrowing. "Let's just say it would be in your best interests to start looking for another job." Feeling only a twinge of guilt amongst the sea of anger, Colby left the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

"How are you feeling?" Charlie asked Don early the next morning. His brother had been sound asleep when he and his father had arrived at the hospital, so Alan had left them alone while he went to get some breakfast. Don had woken not five minutes after the older man had left, and Charlie was trying to gauge his big brother's condition.

"No ice."

Charlie's brow furrowed. "Come again?"

"No... ice." Don frowned and waived his hand uselessly. "Ice."

"I'm sorry, bro," he said ruefully. "I really am. How about this – are you still feeling hot today?"

Don wearily nodded.

"Pain?" Slight nod. "Tired." 'What-do-you-think' look. "Let me call the nurse and see about some pain meds. Maybe something for the fever again."

"Want not here. Bad... ice."

Charlie's heart broke as he tried to decipher Don's words, but to no avail. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice cracking. "I don't understand."

Don weakly raised his hand and thumped the splinted wrist against Charlie's arm in an attempt to sooth his little brother. Nodding, he gave Charlie a big smile.

Charlie felt the dam holding his emotions in start to crack. _No! You will be strong for your brother. You will not break down._ He met Don's trusting eyes, so filled with love and gratitude, and suddenly he couldn't hold it back any longer. "Don," he whispered tearfully as he pressed his forehead against his brother's good shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

"Charlie," Don hoarsely whispered. "_Charlie._"

The young man continued to lean into his brother, drawing comfort in the fact that Don was alive and breathing, telling himself that together they could overcome anything else – aphasia included. It was a tough argument, but Charlie made himself repeat the thought over and over until his strength returned and the tears dried up. Sitting up straight in his chair, he gave Don the most confident, assured look he could offer.

"I'm okay now, bro," he said. "Just needed a moment." Reaching out and grabbing his brother's hand, Charlie met his gaze and said with absolute certainty, "We will beat this, Don. I promise."

The injured man nodded and squeezed the hand in his, understanding his brother's words and saying the one thing he could to express his understanding: "Charlie."

--

Megan sighed and wearily rubbed her forehead. "So, let's recap," she said to her coworkers. "We know Don was taken from the gym, but we don't know why or by whom. The fact that his SUV and personal belongings are where he left them tells me that this was not some sort of robbery gone bad."

"Right," David agreed.

"We know he was attacked somewhere between the gym and Charlie's house, although we can't rule out Charlie's house as the scene of the attack."

"Well," Colby began as he fiddled with a chopstick in his hand. "I've been thinking about that. If he had been attacked at Charlie's, I think we would have seen more disturbances in the back yard and surrounding areas. The amount of blood on the back steps tells us that the head wound was inflicted there, but I'm thinking that his other injuries were sustained somewhere else. Makes more sense about the dragging pattern and the flattened grass. If he was injured, he might not have been able to walk and his attackers would have dragged him through the back gate and dropped him on the ground."

"That does make sense," Megan nodded. "But why take him to Charlie's in the first place? How would they even know to associate him with Charlie?"

"Because they knew him personally?" David suggested.

"But Don said he didn't know these guys," she countered. "I know his memory is a little vague, but he seemed certain of that much."

"What about revenge?" Colby asked. "Maybe a case he and Charlie worked on together and someone wanted to get even. They grab Don, beat him so that he can't fight back and then take him to Charlie's to wait on their other victim."

"Maybe," David replied. "But why didn't they attack Charlie and Alan when they got home?"

"They got tired of waiting? Saw something that spooked them and they took off?" Colby snapped the chopstick in frustration. "Dammit, we just don't know enough."

"Alright," Megan said calmly. "Let's skip the motive for now. Back to the evidence."

"Right," David said as he flipped to the next page of their case file. "Okay, the crime scene techs came up empty on Don's vehicle and no foreign prints or trace evidence on his personal things. There were some stains on his tee shirt – mostly grass and blood – and the blood matches that on the broken glass, so we can assume that it's Don's. The grass is the same type growing in the Eppes backyard, so that doesn't tell us anything either." He sighed and flipped the file closed. "So zilch in the physical evidence category."

"And Rogers – the gym girl – didn't see anything," Colby added. "Sally says they have surveillance cameras, but that they've been broken for months. Nobody else was in the gym at the same time as Don, so we've got no eyewitness accounts of what happened."

"What about NCIC?" Megan asked. "No similar hits?"

"Nothing even close," David answered.

"Okay, guys. There has to be an answer somewhere and we're just overlooking it." Megan checked her watch and turned to her computer. "Let's go through every case that Don and Charlie have worked on for the past… say... six months. See if any of them are promising enough to warrant revenge and then dig a little deeper into those."

"I just had another thought," David told them. "If they were after Charlie and Don and revenge is the motive, maybe someone was out to hurt Alan – by going after both of his sons."

"Not likely," Megan said thoughtfully. "But we don't have anything else to work with. Go talk to Alan and see if he knows of anyone who might want to hurt him." As David turned to leave, Megan stopped him. "Prepare yourself, David. If you see Don... Well… it's tough."

"I'll keep that in mind," he promised.

--

"Handle," Don repeated in frustration. _Why is this so damn hard?_ he wondered to himself. He was bored out of his wits and wanted to watch TV – more specifically, the Dodgers game. But his ability to communicate had significantly worsened and he couldn't seem to get his thoughts across at all, even to Charlie.

Charlie continued to shake his head. "I'm sorry, Don. I don't get it."

_God, you stupid idiot!_ Don silently screamed at himself._ You can't even say 'baseball'! You only played it for how many years?_

"Calm down, bro. I know the fever's making it harder to talk, but that's only temporary, okay? Just calm down and keep trying it. Gestures, maybe?"

"Handle." _Bat, you moron. You can't just say 'bat'?_ "Round."

"A round handle? Like a doorknob?"

Don closed his eyes and clenched his left hand into a fist. _This is so damn frustrating!_

"Please calm down, Don. It's okay. A gesture, can you do a gesture?"

Don took his right arm and swung it like he was swinging a bat, but he knew without the use of both arms the motion wasn't very clear. As Charlie studied him, Don pointed to the TV.

"I know," his younger brother nodded. "You want to watch TV." His face suddenly lit up. "Baseball! You want to watch the game!"

Don nodded eagerly.

"I should have guessed that already," he said as he turned on the TV and surfed through the channels until he landed on the Dodgers game.

"Can't." Don closed his eyes and fought back tears as, yet again, he wasn't even close to saying what he'd wanted to tell Charlie – that he shouldn't blame himself. He felt a gentle hand on his cheek and dragged his eyes open to find his little brother standing beside him.

"Hey," he said softly, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes and amusement in his voice. "I finally figure that out what you're telling me and turn the game on, and you close your eyes? How's that for gratitude?"

Don knew what he was trying to do, so he forced a short laugh from his mouth and tried to look ashamed. _Not too hard to do, given how emotional I seem to be lately. Geez, Eppes, get a grip already. _

"Don," his brother spoke again. "You know that I was teasing, right?"

Don nodded and pounded the bed with his right hand, wincing as the swollen wrist began to throb. "Hate. No... done, done." Charlie's hand cupped his cheek, the touch warm and soothing, and Don found himself leaning into it while cursing himself for needing to do so. "Done!" he angrily yelled.

"Shh," his little brother whispered. "You've got to stay calm. Too much stress isn't good for you. Remember – it's the fever making it worse. We were doing pretty good before that, don't you think?"

"Hate," Don mumbled. "Not before then same... always." Over the blood rushing in his ears, Don was vaguely aware of his heart monitor speeding up.

"Shh… please, Don. Stay calm. For me." Charlie's hand was moving through his hair now, a gentle massage of his scalp. Don couldn't help himself as he started to grow drowsy. "That's it, bro. I'm here for you. You're going to be okay."

"Done," he murmured again, hating the plaintive sound of his voice. "Charlie."

"Right here, Don. Just get some sleep now. I'll tell you all about the game later." Don nodded and took a couple of deep breaths as he allowed himself to slip away. The last thing he heard was Charlie's voice, full of laughter as he said, "I'll even make it a fairy tale and tell you all about how they clobbered their opponents."

--

Charlie watched Don as he fell into a deep sleep. His heart ached to see his big brother so frustrated and emotional, but Doctor Mayfield had warned them about this earlier.

"_One of the hardest parts of the aphasia is the emotional aspect of it," he told Charlie and Alan. "Most patients tend to have sudden changes in mood – bouts of extreme anger or moments of intense sadness – for no apparent reason. He'll experience embarrassment at the way he talks and eventually guilt that he's putting his family through what – in his eyes – is too much. Aphasia patients tend to tire easily just from the sheer effort of communicating and I'm certain each one of you can remember a time when you were so tired that you thought you'd reached your breaking point. Now, take that feeling and pretend that you weren't capable of telling anyone – of 'talking your emotions out' – and you'll have an idea as to what Don is going through."_

"_Don's not really a big believer in talking about his feelings," Alan replied._

"_Even so, the option – whether or not he would have chosen it before – is no longer there. It makes him feel isolated. And that's on top of the isolation he feels just because he can't ask you something as simple as, 'Can you...' or, 'I need to...'."_

"_I see," Alan nodded wisely._

"_I think it goes without saying that Don – due to all of that stress – is in danger of becoming very depressed. We like to wait and see how he deals with it, but anti-depressants are a strong possibility in the future. Hopefully on a temporary basis only, as he either gets better or learns to cope with what could be a permanent condition."_

"_Permanent," Charlie repeated quietly. "I just can't wrap my brain around that."_

_Mayfield nodded. "That's the hard part for the family. You have to accept the possibility, because you are the only ones who can help Don accept it if and when the time comes." He pulled a notepad from his lab coat pocket and wrote something down before tearing the page off and handing it to Alan. "This is a family support group for aphasia patients. I strongly suggest that you two check it out and sooner, rather than later." He put the pad back into his pocket and continued. "I've seen how you both act around him and I've seen how he reacts to your presence. Yours is one of the closest, most supportive family bonds I've seen in a long time. I think that will be the key factor in Don's recovery, so just keep doing what you've been doing. Don't ever let him think that he's alone, even for a second."_

_Alan gave the doctor a wry grin. "Trust me, we err on the side of 'hovering'. At least that's what Don's griped in the past."_

_Mayfield let out a chuckle and grinned ear to ear. "That's what he needs now."_

"Charlie?"

The professor looked up as his father entered the room. "Hey, Dad."

"How is he? Is the fever down?"

"Not really, no. His speech is still more complicated than before."

"Oh," Alan sighed as he took a seat in 'his' chair. Not knowing what to say, he opted to try and lighten the moment. "I think this chair's got a permanent impression of my rear end in it."

Charlie laughed quietly, not wanting to wake his slumbering brother. "How was lunch with Stan?"

"Good." Alan frowned. "Awkward, actually. He sincerely cares about Don, but I just hate having to go into detail over and over again with everyone that asks about him. It gets pretty tiring."

"I know. Larry's been great, fielding all of the questions and well wishes from the staff and my students so that I don't have to keep repeating it."

"He is a good friend, Charlie. Like family."

"That he is," the younger man nodded. "Speaking of..."

"Oh, that's right," Alan said. "You're meeting him for lunch today, too. Go on, Charlie. I can take care of your brother."

"Thanks, Dad," the young man responded as he stood up to leave. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"You'll do no such thing," Alan informed him. "You need time away from this place just as much as I do. I can look after Don and I promise to call if anything happens." Seeing the hesitant look on his son's face, Alan stood and made a shooing motion. "Go before I push you out the door myself."

"Alright," Charlie laughed. "I know when to admit defeat. I'll see you after a while."

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

David slowly walked down the hospital corridor on his way to Don's room. He tried to prepare himself for seeing his boss, but he had no idea what to expect. He reached the room and paused outside, taking a deep breath and calling on every bit of strength he had to slide a mask of detachment on his face. Deciding that he would follow Alan's lead for speaking to Don, he gave a light knock and entered when he heard Alan's voice.

"David!" the older man called in delight as he rose from his chair to greet him. "What a pleasant surprise!"

He smiled at Alan and waved at him to remain seated. Ever since the Russian mob case, he and Alan had formed a tight, almost father-son like bond. "Alan," he greeted. Noticing that Don was sleeping, he quickly lowered his voice. "How's he doing?"

"It's tough," the other man admitted. "For him, for us... It will be for you, too, David. Keep that in mind."

"I will," he assured him. "Megan gave me a heads up, but I've never heard of aphasia before, much less met anyone affected by it."

"Well, God willing, this is a temporary thing. I think we're all ready for Don to be up and about, and bossing us around like normal."

David laughed softly. "Indeed."

"So," the older man grew solemn. "I'm assuming there's an official reason for this visit."

"I wanted to say hi to Don, but yes, I am here to see you on business."

"Me?" Alan asked in shock. "What on earth do you need with me?"

David gestured questioningly at his sleeping boss. "I don't want to disturb him..."

"He sleeps hard these days," Alan told him. "We'll just keep our voices low."

Nodding, David moved a chair to the other man's side and gingerly perched on the edge. "We're in a bad spot in this investigation, Alan. We've got no physical evidence and no eyewitness accounts. Best we can tell, Don went to a private gym to work out and was grabbed from inside."

"A gym? And you're telling me no one saw anything?"

"The receptionist working the desk stepped away for a while. No one else signed in while he was there."

"What about someone who didn't sign in?" Alan asked.

"I don't follow you," David replied.

"If someone walked in and grabbed Don while she was gone, don't you think it's possible that someone else might have walked in, too? Not to go after my son, but for some other reason." Alan paused while David thought about his words. "I'm guessing that this isn't the first time this receptionist has wandered away from her post."

"According to her boss, it isn't. That's a good thought, Alan. I'll get Colby to follow up with the gym." He sighed and met the older man's eyes. "This part is kind of hard for me to say..."

"Son," Alan said softly as he placed a hand on David's shoulder. "You may not believe it, but hard has become a permanent part of my day-to-day life. I can take it."

"Right," David said in embarrassment. "I wasn't thinking."

"That's okay. Now," Alan said in a firm tone. "Spit it out."

"We think that Don was grabbed at the gym and then beaten somewhere else before being brought to your – Charlie's – house. We found Don's SUV and personal items, including his wallet, so we don't think robbery is a motive. Our main concern is the possibility that someone is out to hurt both of your sons and that's why they brought Don to Charlie's house that night. Obviously, that leads us to an important question: Do you know of anyone that might be angry enough to exact this kind of revenge on you? Someone you angered through your work?"

"What?" Alan asked, taken aback at the mere thought. "I have an architectural consulting firm, for goodness sakes. How would I make enemies there?"

"I know it seems far fetched, but we've got to look at every possibility, no matter how remote. What about on a personal level? Anyone from your past?"

"No," the older man insisted. "I've never had an enemy that I can think of." He shook his head. "It must be something else."

"Alright," the agent nodded. "I appreciate the information. And I'll check on the gym angle again."

They both grew silent and turned their attention to Don as he shifted in the bed. His eyes fluttered open and found their way to Alan, then David. He grinned at David and held up his right hand by way of greeting.

"Yo, Don," the agent beamed at his boss. "Just thought I'd stop by to say hi."

"How are you feeling, Donny? Still hot?"

"Maybe," the injured man replied, waggling his hand in a so-so gesture.

"I'll let the nurse know when she comes in," Alan responded as he laid his hand on Don's forehead. "You feel a bit cooler."

"You'll be up and on your feet in no time," David stated with confidence.

"Want... not... soon."

"You want to, but it won't be soon enough for you?" Alan tried to clarify.

Don sighed in frustration and shrugged. "No thought... done." He clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.

David, sensing it was his presence that was making Don so reticent to speak, rose from his chair and nodded to his two companions. "I've got to get back to work now. I'll see you soon, Don – got that?" David winked and nodded encouragingly.

Don humored him with a smile and a nod.

"Good," David grinned ear to ear. "You, too, Alan."

"Take care, David," the older man waved.

"I will." In a lower voice that he was certain Don wouldn't hear, he said to Alan, "And I'll keep you updated."

"Thanks," the other man whispered back.

David left the room and strode down the hallway, intent on checking into Alan's idea. What if there _had_ been someone else who had sneaked into the gym? That person might very well have seen what happened to Don and could be the key to breaking the case wide open. Flipping open his cell, David pressed speed dial two.

"Granger."

"It's me," David said. "Listen… Alan had an idea I think we should check out, but it means that you're going to have to go back to see Sally."

His answer consisted of a short bark of laughter, followed by a sarcastic, "The things I do for you, man."

--

"Agent Granger!" Sally Graves exclaimed happily. "Interested in that private membership after all?"

"Ah, Sally," Colby grinned. "You know me too well." He leaned over the desk and lowered his voice. "I need to talk to you about the case."

"Of course," she answered, all signs of flirting gone. "Let's go to my office."

She led him through a short hallway behind the sign-in desk to the last room on the right. Sally opened the door and took a seat in a luxurious looking office chair, gesturing for Colby to sit in its counterpart.

"Nice digs," he remarked as he took in the rich, wood paneling and plush, colorful carpet. "How much _do_ you charge for membership?"

"Don't let it fool you," she giggled. "My sister is an interior decorator. Did all this for free under the condition that I bring prospective clients in here to join and casually mention who did the office."

"Smart girl," he said, winking at Sally. "Must run in the family. And it's Colby, by the way."

"Right," she smiled. "Colby. As much as I enjoy your company, I doubt you're here on personal business."

"No. We're still trying to get a jump on this case, Sally. Ms. Rogers leaving the desk unattended – that wasn't a first-time occurrence, was it?"

"No, unfortunately not. She's done it several times, but it's hard to catch her when there's no one else here to see that she's gone."

"True," Colby agreed. "I was just wondering – have you had any problems with a person or persons sneaking in here when she's gone? Or any time at all?"

"Well," Sally chewed her lip as she thought. "Actually there _was_ this one guy. His name was Garrett... Alderson, I think? He used to be a member here until we discovered that he had hidden cameras in the women's locker room. One day when he came in we confronted him with that information and he denied it, but in the process we noticed that he had a camera in his gym bag. We confiscated it and had the roll developed, and... Let's just say he's one sick individual."

"Those pictures," Colby said as he wrote the man's name in his notepad. "Were they of members or employees?"

"Neither," she answered with a shiver. "We never did find out who they were of, but they were taken through bedroom windows. The women were all undressing or fresh out of the shower. We turned the pictures in to police, but they said without complaining witnesses..."

"Yeah, I can guess what they said. Unfortunately, that is true." He glanced up and gave her a warm look. "What ever happened to Alderson?"

"He started sneaking into the gym – to plant more cameras, I suspect. We don't really have security, per se, but we do have some pretty big guys who look out for us." Sally suddenly paled and gasped. "Oh dear..."

"What?" Colby asked.

"I should have thought of it sooner," she whispered. "But I didn't put the two together."

"Sally," he said gently. "What is it?"

"He came in one evening just as I was going home. He'd sneaked in behind a group of about five women here for an aerobics class. I spotted him and... Agent Eppes was here that night."

Colby leaned forward in his seat. "And?"

"He asked me if I needed help and I told him about Alderson. Agent Eppes approached him and told him to leave and never come back. Alderson started to give him a hard time, so Agent Eppes flashed his badge and physically shoved the little pervert right out the front door."

"Sounds like Don," Colby smiled. "You think Alderson was mad enough to want to get him back?"

"That's just it," Sally said sadly. "He told Don that FBI or not, he'd have his revenge."

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you feeling better, Don?" Mayfield asked.

Alan watched as his son nodded but made no effort to speak.

"Good. Your fever is gone, so your efforts at communication should be getting a little better. What about pain – do you have any right now?"

Don shook his head.

"Excellent." Mayfield wrote some notes on his patient's chart and glanced over to the other two Eppes men. "So, here's the verdict – pending any complications overnight, I'll be releasing Don into your care tomorrow afternoon."

"That's wonderful!" Alan exclaimed. He grinned at his oldest son. "Not a minute too soon, right, Donny?"

The man in the bed shrugged and focused his attention on the blank television screen.

Seeing Alan's worried expression, Mayfield made a subtle gesture for the two of them to move into the hallway. "If you'll come with me, Mr. Eppes, we can go ahead and get some of the paperwork out of the way."

"Anything to speed the process up." Alan made his voice as light as possible, but his stomach was knotted with worry. _Don should be so excited about leaving. This can't be a good sign._ "Be right back, boys."

"We'll be here," Charlie replied as he smiled at his big brother.

Once in the hallway, Alan gave the doctor a worried look. "Are you sure he's okay to go home?"

"His physical injuries are healing quite well. His left shoulder should be out of the sling by the end of this week, his right wrist out of the splint by the end of next week. He'll need some physical therapy, but Don can do that as an outpatient service, or you can have a PT come in house." Alan nodded for the doctor to keep going. "The broken ribs have started mending, although they'll probably cause him some discomfort for another few weeks, especially when he laughs, cries, or when he's breathing hard – like after one of his PT sessions. The kidney bruising is almost healed, so we don't need to worry about monitoring for complications any more."

"And his emotional health?" Alan prodded. "That reaction in there just now – that wasn't my son."

"As I mentioned before, depression is a possibility. I'm hoping that once he gets back into a familiar environment – some place he can call home – his spirits will lift." Mayfield sighed and turned an intense gaze onto the eldest Eppes. "The swelling in the brain is gone, so that's no longer the cause of the aphasia."

"No," Alan breathed. "Don't tell me it's permanent."

"No, I'm not saying that," the doctor cautioned him. "This could just be residual from the initial trauma, in which case practicing his speech and some sessions with a speech therapist should have him back to his old self in no time."

"I hear a really big 'but' coming."

The doctor nodded. "But this may be permanent. In that case, you and your other son are going to have your hands full. The depression will get worse and Don will need to see a psychologist to help him handle the lifestyle change."

"How long before we know which one it is?" Alan demanded.

"That's hard to say. I'd give it at least a week or two and see if you can detect significant improvement or not. If you don't..." He frowned. "Then I'd say it's time to see the psychologist."

"No," Alan shook his head. "I've always been an optimist, and I see no reason to change now. He _will_ be okay."

"I admire that, Mr. Eppes," Mayfield stated. "But just make sure that you're a realist, too, when it comes to dealing with your son's condition. For instance – have you contacted that support group yet?" Seeing the embarrassed look on the other man's face, the doctor nodded. "That's what I'm talking about. Be optimistic, but be prepared for anything."

"I understand. Is there anything else we should know?"

"Practice, practice, practice. Don't let Don slow his recovery by clamming up. Keep him talking – that's how he's going to get better. Be patient with him, but make corrections. If he says the wrong word for something, say the right word and have him repeat it. If he says something in the wrong order or the wrong verb tense, repeat what he said in the correct form. Get him to say it too. Lots of practice on his part and about three times as much patience on your part."

"I've got it," Alan promised him. He gripped the doctor's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Thank you for everything. I and my sons appreciate all that you've done for us."

"My pleasure," Mayfield smiled. "I wish you all the best of luck."

"Thank you." _Because I really think we're going to need it,_ he added silently.

--

"You really think this pervert had something to do with Don being attacked?" David asked skeptically. "He sounds like a loner and Don was adamant that there was more than one attacker."

"We won't know until we ask," Colby answered as he pulled their vehicle into the driveway of a one level, run down house. "Besides, he might be a witness."

"That's true," David said as he unbuckled his seat belt. "How do you want to play this?"

"Hard core," Colby said. "No sympathy and, if necessary, we bluff him like there's no tomorrow."

The two agents followed the cracked walkway through knee high grass until they reached the front door. The paint was chipped and cracked and the screen door hung loosely to the side. Colby rapped on the door and patiently waited for a response.

"Who is it?" a high pitched voice demanded.

"FBI," Colby announced, holding his ID up to the peephole. "Open up."

"I haven't done anything wrong," the whiny voice replied. "Unless you got a warrant, you can't come in."

"This involves an attack on a Federal agent," Colby growled. "You open the door now, or it's coming of its hinges with a little help from me. Got it?"

After a moment's pause, they heard the locks being turned and then the door creaked open to reveal a middle aged man of average height. He glared at the two agents, his thin lips curled in disgust. "You think you can boss everyone around just because-"

"Thanks for letting us in," Colby snapped as he brushed past the man into the dimly lit hallway.

"Yeah," David agreed as he stepped inside and closed the door. "Mighty hospitable of you."

"Hey, wait! I didn't say-"

"Shut up, Alderson," Colby interrupted as he gazed at the piles of video tapes that filled the living room. "So, do I want to know what's on all these tapes?"

"None of your business," Alderson told him. "What the hell do you people want with me?"

"You know a Don Eppes?" David asked.

"No. Should I?"

"How about an Agent Eppes?" Colby asked.

"I said no," the little man shot back. "You have a hard time with that word?"

Colby stepped up to him and glared menacingly. "How about an FBI agent who kicked you out of Steve's Gym? You remember that, smart guy?"

"Sure, I do. What – is this the same guy or something?"

"Like you don't know," David said as he, too, towered over Alderson. "I bet you don't know about the attack, either."

"I don't know anything about any attack," the man said, his eyes nervously twitching back and forth between the two larger men.

"Funny," Colby drawled. "Because we've got you on video that night."

"Right," Alderson laughed. "The surveillance cameras at that place have been busted for months."

"They got _un_-busted," David told him with a slow, cold smile. "And they've got your image on them."

"You're lying," Alderson said as he licked his lips.

"How do you think we found out about you sneaking into the gym that night?" Colby asked. "Think that one over, you moron."

"I'm not the one who attacked him!"

Colby's heart sped up, but he kept his expression cool and calm. "I know that, you twit. But I want to know what you _saw_."

"Why?" Alderson inquired. "If you've got it on tape, then-"

"We have _you_ on tape," David cut him off. "Bad angle on the attackers. So, unless you want to do jail time for peeping on innocent women, you'd better start spilling your guts."

"Alright," the little man squeaked. "I did see the men that grabbed him. Two black kids in black jeans and Raiders jackets. They walked right up to him and said something, but I didn't hear what."

"What happened then?" Colby pressed.

"Your agent nodded really slow and got off the weight bench. He walked with them through the front door without even putting up a fuss."

"Can you describe the men?" David asked.

"Young – twenties maybe – dressed up like hip-hop punks. One of them grinned and I saw a bunch of gold teeth. He scared the hell out of me."

"And you didn't bother to call for help?" David asked in disgust.

"Hey, I didn't know what those thugs had on them! Besides – Agent Eppes doesn't exactly hold a place in my heart."

"Right," Colby snapped. "Did you see where they went when they got outside?"

"There was an SUV waiting for them. Black, probably a Ford. License plate had a 4 and a K in it."

"Anyone else in the vehicle besides the driver?" David queried.

"Looked like one or two more, maybe. Once they got him in – none too gently, it looked like – the SUV screeched off down the street." Alderson eyed the two men. "Is that helpful enough? Can you just forget about what you saw here?"

"I'll tell you what you're going to do," Colby spoke firmly. "You're going to destroy these tapes and then you are never even going into the same zip code as Steve's Gym. You got that?"

"But-"

"Or I run you in right now and you do some hard time."

Alderson weakly nodded at Colby. "I guess I got no choice."

"Smart move," Colby responded. "I'm going to have an agent follow up with you in a couple of days and those tapes had better be history, got it?"

"Got it," the little man whispered.

The two agents exited the house and returned to their SUV, slipping inside and closing the doors.

"Good bluff, man," David smiled at his partner. "I mean, that was an A-1, first class act."

"Thanks," Colby answered.

"Just one thing."

"What's that?" Colby quirked an eyebrow.

"Remind me to never accept an invite to poker night from you."

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

"Upstairs or downstairs?" Alan asked his oldest son as he eased him through the front door. Don pointed to the sofa. "You want the couch?" A nod. "Donny, we discussed this. Can you please try to say couch?"

Don glared at him and shrugged out of his father's grip, almost doubling over in pain as his ribs screamed in protest. Alan slid his arms around his son again and eased him through the living room, depositing him on the sofa. An embarrassed Don gave a half-hearted wave of thanks.

"Don," Alan said firmly, waiting until his son met his eyes to continue. "Practice, okay? You need to practice speaking so you'll get better faster."

"Right," his son replied bitterly. "Happen not, not... same bad." Don stretched out on the couch, turning his back to his father and burying his face in the cushions.

Alan watched as his son's body tensed and his shoulders shook slightly. He knew Don was embarrassed and getting more and more discouraged and he was at a loss on how to get through to him. Sensing that Don might need some alone time now, the older man decided to give him some space. "I've got some yard work to do, Donny. I'll be outside if you need me, okay?" Don nodded against the couch cushions but made no other attempt to acknowledge his father's words.

Alan wearily made his way through the house, silently praying that the moment of privacy would help ease Don's anguish. Personally, he thought Don needed to be fussed over, but he knew his son would not react well to that in his current state. _Yes, best to just let him be for now,_ Alan told himself. _Maybe he'll feel better by the time Charlie gets back from his apartment with his things._

Once in the backyard, Alan surveyed the landscape and frowned at the mess the crime scene techs had left behind. He knew they'd had a job to do, but the devastation was almost complete. Grass was trampled and ripped up in places, and his flower garden looked like an unruly pile of dirt with an occasional colored petal poking through. Somehow, he thought he might feel better about the yard if they had actually caught the people responsible for Don's attack.

"Oh well," he sighed aloud. "At least it'll give me something to do."

Deciding his first course of action should be to salvage the flower bed, Alan moved to the tool shed to retrieve his rake and shovel. He reached through the shaded doorway, his hand automatically going to the spot where the tools hung from the wall. Alan frowned as his fingers came up empty. _What the...?_

He quickly poked his head into the cool interior of the shed and studied the wall. All of his tools were still there except the shovel. _I wonder if Charlie used it and forgot to put it back? I gave him a big lecture the last time he did that, but maybe he wasn't listening._ Alan grew angry as he considered the possibility that Charlie had been so careless again. The shovel had been Margaret's housewarming gift when they'd moved in and it was one of his prized possessions. "I want a flower garden to make the entire neighborhood jealous," she'd told him with a warm smile on her face. She'd always known about his 'inner gardener' and was thrilled that he would finally have somewhere to really express himself.

He smiled at the memory as he grabbed the rake. _Might as well get started,_ he thought to himself. _I can tear Charlie a new one when he gets home._

After an hour of backbreaking work, Alan heard Charlie's voice coming through the back door. "Out here!" he called.

His curly haired son materialized on the back steps, smiling as he took in his father's dirty appearance. "Trying to get things back to normal?"

"Key word – _trying_," Alan smiled tiredly. "They really did a number out here."

"I know. I think I'd feel better about it if they had-"

"Caught the people," Alan finished. "I was just thinking that earlier."

"So, Don's sacked out on the couch," Charlie told his father. "I think he's pretending to be asleep. Didn't answer when I whispered hello to him." The young man sank onto the back step, immediately scooting over as he recognized the rust-brown stain he'd sat on. "I'm worried about him, Dad."

"I am too, son. I tried to make him talk earlier and he pulled away from me as fast as he could. I want him to get better, but there's a fine line between pushing him forward and pushing him away."

"Exactly," Charlie nodded as his eyes drifted back to the horrible stain. "Need to clean the steps."

Alan followed his gaze and felt his chest tighten. "The pressure washer's in the shed. You want to get started on that?"

"Yes," Charlie quickly agreed, springing to his feet and trotting to the small building.

"Hey," Alan stopped him. "That reminds me – I thought I asked you to put my tools up if you used them."

"You did," Charlie replied.

"Really?" his father asked skeptically. "Then what did you do with my shovel? You know how important that is to me."

"I didn't do anything with it," the young man protested. "After learning what it meant to you, I went out and bought my own." He disappeared into the shed and popped out a minute later, holding up a new shovel. "See?"

"I see. Well… mine's missing," Alan told him.

"When's the last time you used it?"

"A couple of months ago. It started raining, so I put it up and came inside." Alan wracked his brain, trying to remember if he'd had any other occasion to use it.

"You think Don borrowed it?"

"_He_ knows better," Alan stated. "And your brother doesn't exactly like to garden."

"He has a couple of plants at his apartment," Charlie pointed out.

"An air plant and a cactus," Alan told him. "Not exactly high maintenance." He turned his gaze to the shed and eyed the ground around the small building. Something caught his eye and his gaze trailed back to the steps. "Oh my God," he whispered, his knees threatening to buckle.

Charlie was at his side within seconds. "What is it?"

"Look at the grass, how it's flattened in a path straight toward..." Unable to finish speaking, he weakly pointed at the back door.

Charlie was silent as he tried to comprehend what his father was saying. "Wait – you think _that_ was what they used to hit Don?" The younger man was horrified at the thought of his brother being struck in the head with something as potentially deadly as a shovel. "Oh, Don."

"We'd better let Megan know."

"She'll probably want a description."

"Right," Alan said as he returned the rake to the shed. "What about you?"

"Larry's packet of information finally came in today. I ran by and picked it up so I could go ahead and get started reading. I thought I'd sit with Don while I did in case he needs something."

"Good idea, Charlie." Alan knew Charlie was feeling as useless as he was about how to help Don and decided a quick pep talk was in order. He draped an arm around his son's shoulders and gave him a quick squeeze. "We'll get through this, you know. We're a tough family."

"I know," Charlie answered with a note of confidence in his voice that hadn't been there earlier. "Together we can do anything."

"Right," Alan assured him as he followed his son into the house. He cast one last look over his shoulder at the devastated backyard and thought about how well it symbolized its owners. _It was once a beautiful, perfect thing and now it's in a complete state of chaos and disarray, just like our family. But, with a lot of love, hard work and patience, it'll be back to normal in no time – just like our family._

"Dad? Are you coming?"

"Right behind you, Charlie," Alan answered, his mind finally clear and ready to face the challenges ahead.

--

"Second delivery went as planned," Heavy Set man told his companion. "Not a hint of cops anywhere."

"Good," Skullcap responded. "I think it's time."

"Already?" the other man asked. "You sure?"

"Hey, who's the boss around here?" Skullcap demanded angrily.

"You are, man," Heavy Set answered. "But it's only been two shipments."

"Yeah, well if teacher-boy was on the case again, those two deliveries wouldn't have gone through, right?"

"Guess that's true."

"It is. My business, my call. You ain't forgetting that, are you?"

"Course not." Heavy Set pulled out a cell. "Call Marcus?"

"Yep," Skullcap said with a wicked gleam in his eye. "Tell him end of next week."

"Right."

"Yo, Rock?"

Heavy set man looked up from the phone. "What?"

"This is the big time, now." Skullcap flashed his trademark gold-toothed smile. "Time to become the most powerful gang in the city."

"Word," the other man grinned greedily.

--

"A shovel?" Megan repeated into the phone.

"It's gone," Alan told her again. "I think that may be what they used to hit Don."

"I'll put it in the report, but a common shovel isn't going to be all that useful."

"It's not common," he informed her. "Margaret gave it to me when we first moved into the house. There's a small plaque on the handle with an inscription engraved on it."

"Oh?" she asked, her interest piqued. "What does it say?"

"'To Alan, May our family flourish in the garden of our heart and home. Love, Margaret.'"

"That's beautiful," Megan said as she copied the words down.

"She was a wonderful woman," Alan replied wistfully.

"I can tell," she said. "Anyone who falls in love with you and has two fine sons must have been quite a woman."

"Thanks," he whispered.

"This information could be very important," Megan said, her professionalism taking over. "The fact that the shovel is an older model and it's personalized will make its discovery significant, if and when we find it."

"I hoped that would be the case."

"So," she quietly spoke. "How's Don doing now that he's at home?"

"Not much better, I'm afraid. He's still reluctant to speak at all. Doctor Mayfield warned us about the possibility of depression and I'm afraid that's what we're approaching at full speed." Alan let out a weary sigh. "We're letting him get settled for the next few days – working all of our schedules out – and then Don will be meeting with a speech therapist to hopefully get him back on track."

"If you need anything at all..."

"I know, Megan," Alan said warmly. "I appreciate the offer and I promise I'll let you know."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Charlie was halfway through the second book on aphasia when he heard Don shift on the sofa. Folding down the corner of the page, he set the book on the coffee table and waited as his brother rolled over to face him.

"Hey, Don," he spoke as the older man looked at him. "How are you feeling?"

Don shrugged and yawned, sitting up and leaning against the couch cushions.

"_Tell_ me, Don. Are you tired? In pain? Fine? How do you feel?"

The older man gave him a stubborn look and rolled his eyes. "No."

"See?" Charlie asked as he grinned. "That's a good answer. Now, how about the answer to my question?" Seeing that his brother wasn't giving in, Charlie adopted a pleading tone. "For me, Don."

The other man sighed and his face scrunched up in concentration. "Sleepy. No... awake."

"Sleepy because you just woke up?"

"Yes." Charlie watched as a small amount of tension left Don's body. "No hurt."

"That's good to know." Charlie studied his brother with an intense look until Don awkwardly shifted in his seat.

"What?"

The younger man grinned. "I like hearing you talk. The sound of your voice makes me think that everything's going to be alright."

Don raised an eyebrow. "Funny?"

"Am I joking? Is that what you meant to say?" Don nodded. "Say it, then."

"Funny."

"No," Charlie insisted in a soft tone. "Say the right words. Watch me and copy what I do, okay?"

"No kid," his big brother protested.

"I know you're not a kid, Don. I'd never think that about you. But you _do_ need a little bit of help to get back on track, and I want to be the one you turn to." Charlie moved to sit next to his brother on the couch. "Please let me help, Don."

After a long, tense pause, the older man looked up and nodded solemnly. "Charlie."

"Okay," the other man nodded, his curls bobbing in excitement. "You wanted to say, 'Are you joking', right?" A nod. "Let's take it one word at a time. Are."

"Car." Don's face fell as he heard the wrong word come out of his mouth. Shaking his head, he snapped, "Hard!"

"It's not too hard, Don," Charlie soothed as he rubbed his brother's shoulder. "Let me grab something that will help." The young man bolted from the couch, up the stairs to the bathroom and quickly returned to Don's side, offering him the object in his hands. At Don's questioning look, Charlie smiled. "Watch my mouth when I say the word and then look at your mouth in that mirror when you say it."

Don looked at his face in the small handheld mirror, frowning at the way the hair on the left side of his head spiked out in random directions.

"It'll grow back," Charlie assured him as though he'd read Don's thoughts. "So, first word..." He paused until his brother looked at him. "Are."

"Ca..." Don watched his mouth in the mirror and silently moved his lips, practicing before he spoke. "Are."

"Great!" the professor congratulated him. "Next... You."

Don pursed his lips and mimicked his brother's movements. He closed his eyes and tried to memorize the feel of his facial muscles as he worked his jaw. "You."

"One more... kidding."

"Kid... ing." Don took a deep breath. "Kidding. Are you... kidding?"

"I knew you could do it!" Charlie exclaimed, giving into his emotions and enveloping his brother in a huge hug. He quickly drew back as Don let out a quiet gasp. "Oh, your ribs! I'm so sorry!"

Don smiled and grabbed Charlie's wrist. "Not bad?"

"Good?"

Don thought for a minute. "Good... all?"

"All good?" The professor's face suddenly lit up. "Okay? It's okay?"

Don nodded and held the mirror in front of his face. "O... kay." He grinned at Charlie. "Don... okay."

--

'Okay' hadn't lasted. Don had made a small amount of progress that afternoon with Charlie, but had quickly slid back into a depressed state as the enormity of his recovery dawned on him. Charlie remained confident, optimistic and persistent as he begged and coerced his brother to keep practicing. Alan kept a watchful eye on his sons over the next few days as they worked together on various practice drills. He could tell that Don – although grateful for his brother's support – was getting very frustrated with his demands. Aphasia aside, Don could physically care for himself with no problems and he seemed to be eager to get back to his apartment. Alan, afraid of what would happen if Don was left by himself, was determined to make sure he stayed at Charlie's house for support. And he only knew of one way to do that.

"Charlie," he called to his son that evening as he came down for dinner. "Can I speak to you for a moment?"

"Sure, Dad. What's up?"

Alan leaned close and lowered his voice. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you should go back to work."

"What? But Don's-"

"Doing very well," Alan cut him off. "Physically speaking he's much better and his rehab is going very smoothly."

"But his speech-"

Alan held up a hand. "I know – he still has a ways to go in that regard." Alan took a deep breath and gazed into his youngest son's eyes. "You have been great for Don. You've supported him and convinced him to keep working toward his recovery, but I think it's time you both had a break."

"The more he practices, the sooner he'll get better," Charlie argued.

"I know, but you're working him night and day, almost non-stop. That's not good, either."

"I'm just trying to help."

"And I love you for that," Alan told him. "So does your brother. But I think it would be best if you went back to work and took a break. I'm not saying halt, but just work on it for a little while in the evenings and on the weekends. Otherwise..."

"What?" Charlie asked fearfully.

"I'm afraid Don might get a little burned out. Maybe decide to go back to the comfort and isolation of his apartment. I'd worry more about him then, wouldn't you?"

"I guess so," the professor admitted. "You really think this is what Don needs?"

"I do, yes," Alan replied as he patted his son on the shoulder. "Trust me."

"Well," Charlie playfully grinned. "You _are_ old and wise."

"Really?" Alan asked. "Guess who's doing the dishes tonight?"

Charlie mumbled something unintelligible as he grabbed a stack of dishes and went to set the table.

--

Don savored the bite of steak in his mouth, relishing the fact that there was no more hospital food anywhere in the near future. He opened his eyes and blushed at the amused expressions on his father's and brother's faces. "Good."

"Thank you," Alan grinned. "But I don't think you've ever met a steak you didn't like."

Don smiled and popped another bite into his mouth.

"So," Charlie said as he reached for another helping of broccoli. "I've decided to go back to work tomorrow."

Don raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yeah. As much fun as I've had spending time with you, I can't let my work go unattended for too long. I hope you understand." He looked expectantly at his older brother.

Inside Don was doing somersaults. He loved his brother and appreciated everything he was doing for him, but he'd gotten so frustrated lately that he just wanted to... _No, can't think that way about my own brother, _he chastised himself.

"Don? _Are_ you okay with that?"

Don looked at his little brother's worried expression and quickly nodded. "Okay."

"Good," the younger man grinned. "I'll still be happy to help you practice when I get home."

"Sure," Don replied. "I that like."

"You mean..." Charlie trailed off as he gestured with his fork for Don to switch the word order.

"Oh. I... like that." Don basked in the loving looks of his family as he finished off his steak. _Maybe things are finally going my way._

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

"Charles," Larry greeted as he entered his colleague's office. "I'd heard through the furiously churning rumor mill that you had rejoined our fine campus. Am I to take it that Don's recovery is going well?"

"Yeah," the younger man grinned. "So well that Dad suggested we might be spending too much time together. We decided it was back to work I go and Don and I will keep practicing his speech in the evenings."

"That sounds like another wise decision issued by the admirable Alan Eppes."

"Admirable Alan…" Charlie laughed and shook his head. "Please don't ever say that to him – Don and I would never hear the end of it."

Larry smiled as he settled into Charlie's empty desk chair. "An excellent source for blackmail," he mused as he watched his friend write on the blackboard. "I am certainly glad that you've come back to work, but I couldn't help but observe that Amita taught your morning class today. May I assume it has something to do with…" Larry gestured to the chalkboard, "…this?"

"You may," Charlie told him. "I got a call from Lieutenant Walker last night, practically begging me to-"

"_Begging?_"

"Okay, _politely demanding_ that I start working on the gang case again. Seems the YK Gang managed to move a couple of large shipments of drugs during my time off the case and he's anticipating an even larger shipment in the near future."

"YK?" Larry asked.

"Young Killers. Predominantly African-American members whose main racket is the drug trade. They're suspected of involvement in at least twelve gang- or drug-related murders this year."

"Perhaps I could be of some assistance?"

"Sure," Charlie replied. "I'm working on a decision tree to determine the probable location for the next shipment, how many gang members may be there, etcetera. Based on the data so far, I think Walker is right – they're due for a _big_ shipment."

"How can I help?"

"Read through those files," Charlie said, pointing to a tall stack of folders on his desk. "Look at the specifics of the past two shipments and give me all of the data for the categories I have listed on the board."

Larry silently read through the files as the younger professor scribbled on the blackboard. He picked up a pen and spare notebook from Charlie's desk and began compiling a list of the data to go on the board – date, time, and location of last shipment, how many members were thought to be involved, suspected size of shipment, other crimes reported in the area the same day, the day before or the day after. He stood and, picking up a piece of chalk, began to write on the board in his own frenzied scrawl. Once he'd completed his task he stepped back and studied all of the data on the board.

"This should certainly yield a credible result," he remarked.

"Yes," Charlie agreed. "But in this case it's accuracy that we want. Although I don't think that's going to be a problem." As he finished talking, Charlie diagrammed the decision tree, circling a particular entry. He tapped his chalk on top of the data. "That's it. It's the most probable decision and it makes perfect sense."

Larry nodded. "Am I correct in my observation that they have never lost a shipment when delivering to that location?"

"You sure are." Charlie pulled a photo out of a stack and showed it to Larry. "1200 Riverside Commercial Lane. They've used that warehouse and port six times over the past four years. Only for big shipments and only after they've successfully moved prior shipments without any sign of law enforcement being on to them."

"However," Larry countered. "The warehouse was used after at least five successful shipments in the past. There have only been two so far, so why do you suspect that location so strongly?"

"The gang has never lost so much of their drug shipments in such a short time before my involvement. I think they're hurting financially and they're going to leap at this opportunity."

"And the date and the time correspond to prior drug deliveries at this warehouse," Larry observed.

"Right. The big shipments are delivered via cargo ship and they have to be able to enter the port at night to be undetected. They like Friday nights because the port police have their hands full with drunks and weekend boating traffic."

"So… this Friday? That gives the police a two-day notice to set up their operation."

"I just hope it's enough," Charlie sighed as he pulled out his cell. "I've got to give Lieutenant Walker a heads up."

"I'll leave you to that," the older man said as he headed for the door. "I wouldn't mind hearing the outcome, though."

"Don't worry," Charlie told him. "I'll keep you in the loop."

--

Alan came down the stairs just before lunchtime and found his oldest son sitting on the couch watching the local news. "Looking for another interview with your brother?" he jokingly inquired.

Don rolled his eyes and gave his father a 'yeah, right' look.

"I didn't think so," the older man chuckled as he plopped onto the couch next to his son. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Nothing important." Don shook his head. "Nothing…" he waved his hand at his father.

"Nothing special?" Alan tried to clarify.

Don nodded. "Special, yes."

"I need to go to the grocery store," the older man said. "Interested in tagging along?"

"Public like no this," Don quickly replied, vehemently shaking his head.

"I'll be with you," Alan promised him. "You wouldn't have to speak to anyone, and I bet it would be good to get out and hear people conversing with each other."

"No." Don met his father's gaze with a stubborn one of his own.

"Okay," he relented. "If you don't think you're ready for that, I won't push. How about you make out the list for me?"

"No write," Don reminded his father. "No good."

"Practice, Donny. It'll be good for you to practice." Alan handed him a piece of paper and a pen. "Give it a try."

Don eyed the objects as if they were the deadliest weapons he'd ever seen. "Alan…"

"Try it," his father repeated, his tone having grown firm and uncompromising. "I'm going to clean some stuff out of the refrigerator while you make out the list." He rose and looked down at his son. "And expect there to be something on that paper when I get back, got it?"

Alan affectionately patted Don's shoulder and left him alone to work on the list. He cleaned out the fridge, and cleaned some dishes left over from the previous night's dinner. Checking his watch, he decided that Don should have had plenty of time to write something down. He calmly joined Don in the living room and resumed his position on the couch. "How'd it go?" he asked, though he already knew the answer just by the look on Don's face.

"Bad." Don nervously showed his father the list, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Know what write, but not do."

"That's okay, son. It's part of the aphasia – that's why you need to keep practicing." Alan took the piece of paper and scanned over the items. "At least I can read your writing," he joked. "That's a first."

Don gave him a weak grin and nodded at his father's attempt at levity. "Help… make better?"

"Correct the list?" Alan asked. "Of course I will. This first item says red cow. Knowing you as I do, you want steak again, right?"

Don's tension eased a bit as he nodded.

"Okay," Alan said as he placed the paper on the coffee table in front of them. "Watch what I write." He slowly printed the word, one letter at a time, and had Don copy him. "Good job, Don! Now, next item… hot black. Hmm," Alan rubbed his bottom lip as he thought.

Don mimed drinking.

"Coffee! That one should have been obvious, too. Sorry, the old man seems to be a bit slow today."

"Okay," Don told him with a smile. "Not problem."

"I appreciate your patience with me," his father said sincerely. "Third item… baked suds?"

Don nodded and raised his hands in a helpless gesture.

"I need a little help with that one. Any other words to describe it?"

"Tart white… butter…" Don frowned in concentration. "Hot mash up."

"Potato?" Alan asked, smiling as Don nodded in excitement. "Steak and baked potato. There is more to life, Don."

"Good life."

"So, this fourth item – bottle. I can guess that one, but the answer is no while you're still taking pain killers."

"Not," Don told him. "No hurt bad. Good well better."

"Alright," Alan sighed. "I'll buy you some beer. But if I even think you need a pain pill, I'm pouring the bottles out."

"Mean," Don pouted.

"No, I just care about you." Alan patted his knee. "I know it seems like a bit much to you at times, but I love you, Donny. And dads get to hover – it's in the parenting handbook."

"Funny," Don said sarcastically.

"Right," his father chuckled. "That was all you put on the list?"

"Hard. Took think a lot."

"Took a lot of thought."

"Thought," Don repeated. "Took… a lot… thought."

"I know it did, son." Alan leaned over and gave Don a gentle hug. "And it means a lot to me that you worked that hard." He released his son and tucked the list into his shirt pocket. "Sure you don't want to go?" At Don's annoyed look, he shrugged apologetically. "Okay, I understand. I'll see you after a while."

--

"We got an ID."

Megan looked up from the file on her desk and smiled at Colby. "That's great! Who?"

"Since the gym perv mentioned Raiders jackets and black clothes, I figured we might be dealing with the Young Killers gang. So I cross referenced suspected members against any hits on the DMV search of the SUV and partial license plate. I got a hit on a kid by the name of Randy Wilcox," Colby looked down at his notes. "He runs the south LA chapter of the YKs. Been arrested twice in the past year for suspected trafficking and once for attempted murder but no convictions. Witness disappearing or winding up dead – that sort of thing."

"Has Don crossed paths with the YKs?" Megan frowned. "I don't think any of us have worked a gang angle since the Russian mob case."

Colby shook his head. "That's just it – Don has _never_ been involved in an investigation involving the gang."

"Maybe he was working on a non-gang case that hit a little too close to home for Wilcox? Or some other member that Wilcox is close to?"

"Could be," Colby nodded. "David and I will be sure to ask him when we pay him a visit this afternoon."

"Take two more agents with you as back up," she warned him. "The YKs don't mess around."

"We will."

"Good. Keep me updated, okay?"

"Always," he grinned mischievously.

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

"Donny?" Alan called as he finished putting away the groceries. He looked through the house, coming up empty, and checked outside. He found his oldest son standing just outside the back door, staring intently at the rust colored stain that covered the steps. Cursing himself for not making sure that he or Charlie had washed away the dried blood, Alan gently asked, "Donny, are you okay?"

"Hard," Don whispered. "Memory bad."

"Oh," Alan replied softly as he moved to stand beside his son. "Right."

"Agent should memory."

"Remember," Alan gently corrected him.

"Re…member. Right." Don's shoulders sagged and he wearily looked up at his father. "Maybe not agent?"

"What?" Alan exclaimed. "You're the best FBI agent this state – no, this country – has ever been blessed with."

"No," Don shook his head vehemently. "Not best… no remember."

"Come with me," the older man said, gripping his son's elbow and guiding him through the yard to the old swing he'd given Margaret for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. He carefully helped Don get settled and then lowered himself beside him. "Donny, you were hurt – a head injury. You've seen enough in your line of work to know that head injuries cause short term memory loss."

Don gave a non-committal shrug.

Alan slipped an arm around the younger man's shoulders and intently studied his face. "So, what's _really_ bothering you?"

"Not talk about."

"I think you should," Alan told him. "You'd be surprised how much that will help."

"Doubt," Don snorted in disgust.

His father gently gripped Don's chin and turned his face so that they're eyes met. "Just try it, Donny. For me?"

"Not better," Don sighed wearily. "Ten… four… weeks?" He silently pleaded with his father to give him the correct number.

"Almost two weeks since the attack," Alan answered.

"And not remember." Alan started to speak, but Don quickly shook his head. "No… wrong said. Remember not yes. But talk better now." He closed his eyes and concentrated. "_Should_ talk better now."

"But your speaking _has_ improved," Alan argued. "Before you could hardly come up with the right word and now you do most of the time. The occasional word still escapes you, but that's getting better, too. The only thing you have left to really work on is getting your words in the right order and then your sentences will get better and more complex." Alan patted his cheek affectionately. "You'll be good as new then."

"Should already."

Alan sighed and let his hand slip back to his son's shoulder. "Patience, Donny. I know that's a four-letter word to you, but you have to be _patient_."

"Hard," Don protested. "Too hard."

"I know it's hard, but that's why Charlie and I are here – to do whatever we can to support you. And you know how we do that?" He gently prodded Don's shoulder until he shrugged. "By listening to you – to what you're thinking and feeling. It helps you unload your burden, while at the same time giving us something to help you practice your speaking. But that means you do actually have to _talk_ to us, okay?"

Don nodded and gave his father a small smile. He slowly turned away from his father and let his gaze roam around the back yard, finally coming to rest on the flower garden. He lifted a hand and pointed. "Fixed it."

"I did," Alan nodded as he remembered his earlier thoughts. Deciding perhaps this was another lesson he could impart to his son, he quietly added, "It doesn't look as good as it did before. Some of the flowers are wilting and their colors aren't as bright, but I replanted them anyway. Know why?"

Don looked back at his father, his eyes dancing in wonder. "Grow back?"

"That's right. With patience, a little hard work and a lot of love they'll be good as new in no time."

Don's face lit up and he patted his father's arm. "Understand, Dad."

Neither man spoke, but both of them realized the significance of Don's last word – it was the first time since the attack that he had correctly identified his father as 'Dad'.

--

"This is the place," Colby muttered as he and David pulled into a driveway three houses down from Randy Wilcox's residence. He clicked on his radio and called, "Hines, Patterson – you two in place?"

"Roger," Hines answered. "We've got the back entrance covered."

"Hold tight while we knock and announce, but be ready for him to bust through the back door. Remember, this guy is probably armed and definitely dangerous."

"Copy."

"You ready to do this?" Colby asked David.

"Get Don's attacker? You bet your sweet-"

"Wait!" Colby cut him off. "That's Wilcox, isn't it?"

David looked toward the house and saw a skinny man matching Wilcox's description heading across the front lawn. "That's him, alright."

"Hines," Colby radioed. "Change of plans. The kid's left the house, walking down the street away from our location. Can you circle the block and head him off?"

"We're on it," the agent radioed back.

"Follow in the car or do you want to hoof it?" David asked.

"You know he'll run – they always do." He gave a melodramatic sigh and unfastened his seat belt. "I'll go on foot and you keep close behind me." Colby slipped out of the door and started a casual stroll down the sidewalk. Well… he _tried_ to look casual, but the truth was any white man in a suit was going to stand out in this neighborhood. He nodded amicably at an elderly man in a rocking chair as he passed in front of his yard.

"Lookee here," the old man laughed humorlessly. "If it ain't the po-lice."

"Protecting and serving, sir," Colby said as quietly and politely as he could.

"Right," he cackled. "Hey, Wilcox!"

The yell was loud enough to catch the young man's attention, and he looked around over his shoulder. His eyes landed on Colby at the same time the old man yelled, "Cops!"

Wilcox took off in a dead sprint, his skullcap slipping from his head. Colby paused only for a second to glare at the old man before taking off after his prey. "FBI!" he yelled as he sprinted after the young man. He could hear the SUV's engine gunning behind him and soon David was flying past him after the suspect. He was just about to reach him when Wilcox ducked off into a hidden alleyway. Too small to fit the vehicle through, Colby watched as David jumped out and took off after the young man. He had just reached the alley, too, when he saw the other FBI vehicle come to a halt next to David's.

"Alley!" he called. "Cut off the other side!"

Hines obediently backed up and sped down the street, tires screeching as he took the turn. Colby turned into the alley, frowning as he saw David walking back toward him. "Where is he?"

"Lost him," David said in disgust. "Little punk had a getaway car hidden by the dumpster. Got in and going before I could catch up to him."

"Plate?" Colby asked.

"None. Blue or black four door sedan," David told him. "I think it was a Ford. Throwaway car, so I wouldn't expect an APB to do any good."

"You're probably right," Colby sighed as he watched Hines and Patterson's car slowly driving up the alley. "But I'll put one out anyway."

"I identified myself as a Federal agent," David related. "Should have shot him in the butt when he didn't stop."

"We'll get him," Colby promised. "Let's get that APB out and start scanning the streets around here."

--

"'Bout time you got here," Wilcox snapped. "You forget what a 911 text means?"

"I was occupied," Rock shot back. "Besides, you seem to be in one piece."

The little man slipped into the passenger seat and slammed a hand on the dashboard in frustration. "They were damn Feds!"

"No way," Rock growled. "We got the Feds on us?"

"At least two of them about to knock on my door," Wilcox snapped.

"We gotta call it off, man."

"No! We ain't calling nothing off. We get this shipment in and we're in control of the game. I ain't giving that up because of two Feds."

"You sure?" Rock asked nervously.

"Yeah," Wilcox nodded. "You ain't had nobody knocking on your door, right?"

"Nah, no one."

"Then here's the deal – I'm out and you're in charge." Randy eyed his companion. "You ready for that, Rock?"

The heavy set man grinned and nodded. "Been waiting all my life."

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

Charlie walked through the front door and tossed his keys on the table, immediately looking to the living room couch where he knew he would find his brother waiting for him. "Don!" he greeted.

"Charlie," Don smiled back. "How… your day?"

"It was good. How was yours?"

"Good," Don told him. "Talked to Dad."

"Dad…" Charlie slowly grinned. "I like hearing that word. Good for you!" He dropped onto the couch next to his brother and stared at him happily. "Anything else?"

Don gave a soft laugh. "Learned patience not…" He trailed off and held up four fingers.

"Four," Charlie told him.

The older man nodded. "Not four letters. Word."

"Oh yeah," Charlie grinned. "That sounds like Dad. Where is he?"

"Cooking." His older brother's eyes twinkled. "Steak."

"I should have known." The younger man nudged his brother's arm. "It's your turn to do the dishes, you know."

"Injured," Don tried to protest.

"Right," Charlie snorted. "You've used up that card already."

"Chuck mean."

"Donald sneaky."

Don grinned at the light banter and relaxed against the couch. "Work on speaking."

"Sure," his younger brother agreed. "Hmm, what should we work on today?"

"Case stuff. Agent."

"You and Dad really did have a talk," Charlie smiled. "I'm so glad. Okay, agent. You work for the…?"

"FBI."

"That stands for?"

"Federal… Bureau… In… In…" Don cocked an eyebrow.

"Investigation," Charlie finished, making sure to speak each syllable slowly and clearly.

"Investi… gation. Federal Bureau… of… Investigation."

"You got it, bro. Now, what's your title?"

"Super Agent."

"Close," Charlie said. "It does start with an 's', but…" He stopped speaking as Don started to laugh.

"Kidding, Charlie! Joke."

The young man's eye twinkled. "A joke, Don?"

"Funny!"

"Yeah," Charlie chuckled. "Very funny and music to my ears. I've missed that."

"Me too," Don said as he grew solemn again. "Good as new soon."

"Careful, Don," the professor warned.

"What?"

"You're starting to sound a lot like Dad."

"And that's a bad thing, why?" Alan asked as he stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his hands on his hips as he stared at his youngest son.

"Umm..." Charlie mumbled as he tried to come up with a good answer.

"Busted," Don whispered with a wink.

"You could have told me he was standing there," Charlie whispered back.

"Not good idea."

"Why not?"

"Because…" Don casually hooked a thumb in their father's direction as the older man spoke.

"I think – just for that, smarty pants – you should do the dishes tonight."

"That why." Don grinned and stood up, playfully mussing Charlie's hair.

--

"Got the search warrant," Megan called to her coworkers as she hopped out of her vehicle.

"What took so long?" Colby groused as he nodded at the crime scene tech to open Wilcox's door.

"He ran from a Federal agent," Megan said. "But he didn't shoot at you or threaten you in anyway. You were coming to question him as a witness, remember? Not a suspect, so you didn't even have an arrest warrant."

"I think we had probable cause," David told her.

"I know, and I would tend to agree with you," she nodded. "But, do you want to take a chance that Don's attacker walks on a technicality?"

"No," David said. "Good call."

The three agents allowed the crime scene team to enter before following them inside. They glanced around the dimly lit interior, scanning for anything that looked like it could link Wilcox to their friend's attack.

"Check around for the shovel," Megan told the two men. "It has a personalized plaque from Mrs. Eppes on it."

"Now that would be a nice, strong piece of evidence to find." David looked around. "I'll check the yard and trash out back."

Colby made his way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. "Guy lives off beer and pizza," he remarked as he closed the door and checked out the cabinets. "Not much in the way of dishes, either."

"And I thought all gang bangers had dinner at home every night," Megan sarcastically drawled.

"Ha ha," Colby shot back mirthlessly. "My point is that I don't think this is where Wilcox spends the majority of his time. I'm willing to bet he has another, less official residence somewhere else."

"Like a YK headquarters?"

"Yeah," he said as he joined her in the living room. "Maybe an apartment in a relative's name or something." He lifted the cushions and cocked his head. "Although it seems that he _does_ believe in protection."

Megan peered over his shoulder and shook her head at the assortment of automatic weapons hidden in the sofa. "How original," she remarked dryly.

"Agent Reeves," the head crime scene tech called.

"What have you got, Sam?" she asked as she followed him to the bedroom.

"Lots and lots of ingredients used to cut drugs." He pointed at the assortment he and his team had collected so far. "Looks like he was expecting quite a shipment."

"Or he believes in being prepared," Colby said as he let out a low whistle.

"Bag it all and send LAPD a heads up," Megan told Sam. "Chances are they already know about this guy, but a little interdepartmental sharing never hurts." She motioned Colby to follow her and they headed outside, where they met David on the sidewalk. "Find anything?"

"Lots of pizza boxes," he grumbled. "No sign of a shovel, though."

"He probably tossed it, if that was even what they used on Don," Colby suggested.

"I know," she sighed. "Let's get Wilcox's name and description out to the locals as a 'person of interest'. If the gang unit is on to him, maybe they'll know where his other hangout is."

--

The next two days were hectic for all of the Eppes men. Charlie was busy teaching his classes and speaking with Lieutenant Walker on the phone almost every hour, trying to help him get his operation lined up. Friday morning Charlie gave up, sent his students home to start on an early weekend and went down to police headquarters because that was easier than answering his cell every five minutes.

Alan's days were filled with meetings with Stan and their latest client, a condo developer who wanted to see something 'original and breathtaking'. Alan and Stan would draw up a plan, fax it to the customer and then have him call back to say that it looked good, but there was 'just something missing'. One of them would go to the client's office, take notes and then come back weary and frustrated so that the two men could practically start over. As much as Alan didn't want to leave his son alone, he found himself having to just that as the client got increasingly demanding.

Don enjoyed the solitude at first but it slowly became unwelcome. He desperately wanted to work on his speech, but with his family so busy and his team working on his case, he was left with no one to talk to. He once again started to feel that a complete recovery was just a dream that he would never be able to attain, which sent him back down the path toward depression. Had his family been home they undoubtedly would have seen the signs but Don had a lot of time alone to practice covering it up. He'd put on a cheerful face until his father and brother left the house and then drag himself upstairs where he would spend the day lying in bed.

Late Friday night found Don alone in the house, digging through the fridge as he looked for supper.

"Hello!" he heard his brother's voice call out. "Anybody home?"

_Yeah, like I can really leave the house on my own,_ Don thought bitterly. _Some cop would probably pick me up and throw me in the drunk-tank or loony bin._

"There you are," his little brother said as he joined him in the kitchen. "You cooking?"

"Looking."

"Let me know if I can help," he offered. "I'm starving."

Don ignored him as he rifled through the vegetable drawer. He gave a sigh and decided that vegetable soup was the only thing he felt like making. He started placing the ingredients on the counter and rolled his eyes as his brother spoke.

"Vegetable soup? Sounds good. Can I help?"

Don shook his head. _Believe it or not, I can do some things myself. May not ever talk normally again, or get to be a field agent again, but I can cook by myself._

"Don?" Charlie asked, his voice full of concern. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Don said shortly.

"You seem tense."

"Not." Don began chopping the vegetables on the cutting board and dumping them into a pot. A few minutes later he had the soup cooking and a pleasant aroma filled the house.

"Smells good," Charlie remarked as he took an exaggerated whiff.

"Can cook," Don snapped, instantly hating himself for giving in to his emotions.

"I know," Charlie said soothingly. "I didn't mean to imply that you couldn't." He stood and moved to lean next to Don against the counter. "What's going on, Don?"

Don shook his head and started to leave but Charlie grabbed his arm.

"Please… talk to me."

"No." Don yanked his arm loose and tried to move but his little brother stepped in front of him and pinned him against the counter.

"Talk to me," he pleaded.

"Now?" Don snapped. "No."

"What's wrong? Did I do something to hurt you?" The younger man placed his hands on his brother's shoulders and gently squeezed. "Talk to me. Whatever it is, I want to help."

Feelings of guilt suddenly sprang into his head. _Of course you want to help, Buddy. You and Dad both, but you've got your own lives that you need to live. And my being here and being so needy is only going to hold you back. I should just face that fact and move on with my life – just go back to my apartment and face my future, or lack of one._

"Don?" Charlie's worried voice broke into his thoughts. "Don, you're scaring me."

"Sorry," Don mumbled. "Bad… Sorry."

"What's bad? You're not bad. _Talk_ to me."

Don gently removed Charlie's hands and gave his brother a stern look, deciding that it was time to let his family move on. "No. No more." He stepped around Charlie and moved to the doorway.

"Don?"

But the older man would not stop – just kept walking away from his brother – until he was upstairs, locked away in the solitude of his bedroom.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

Alan arrived home well after eleven o'clock, weary and ready to tell his client to go find another consultant to pester. He'd half-jokingly made the comment to Stan, who had quickly reminded him that word of mouth could be the make-or-break factor in any new business. So Alan had smiled, laughed off his comment and told Stan he'd be at their early morning meeting the next day – even though it was a Saturday and he'd been looking forward to spending time with his family.

As he set his briefcase down, he noticed the TV was on in the living room. "Don?" he asked, wondering why he would be up so late.

"No, it's me, Dad."

"Charlie? What are you doing up so late? And why are you watching Sports Center?"

"It reminds me of Don," his youngest son answered. After a pause, he looked up at his father. "He's not doing so well."

"Oh no," Alan breathed as he sank into his armchair. "What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Charlie sighed. "I came home and he was cooking and I tried to make small talk with him, but he just gave me one word answers. I asked him what was wrong and he got angry. He said 'No more', went upstairs and locked himself in his room. I gave up knocking on his door after an hour."

"I think maybe he's feeling deserted," Alan stated regretfully.

"What?" Charlie demanded. "How could he possibly feel that way?"

"We've been leaving him alone for the past few days. You're back to work and so am I. Think about it – who's been here to help him? To talk to him and help him work on his words? The speech therapist is coming first thing Monday morning, but right now Don is relying on us."

"What? You said I was overworking him! It was your idea that I go back to work," Charlie snapped, instantly regretting his words. "I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not mad at you."

"It's okay, son. This has been hard on all of us. Honestly, when I suggested you go back to work, I didn't realize that Stan and I would get so busy and that Don would be so... alone."

"So, what should we do?"

"I have one more meeting with this client tomorrow morning," Alan thought aloud. "I'm going to tell Stan that's it from me – either the client likes our idea, or Stan works with him alone from here on out. He'll understand that I need to be with Don."

"Okay," Charlie smiled. "I have to meet with Lieutenant Walker tomorrow to see how the drug bust went and see if he needs my help tying up any loose ends. That shouldn't take too long, and then I'm free for the rest of the weekend."

"That sounds like a plan," Alan smiled.

--

"Donny?"

Don remained silent, hoping that if he didn't answer his father would go away and leave him alone.

"Don?" his father called louder as he knocked on the door. "Son, I need to talk to you."

_No you don't,_ Don thought. _Just leave me alone and I'll be out of your hair come Monday morning._

"Don," his father said again, his voice growing stern. "I can stand out here all night if I have to."

_Why can't you just leave me alone? _

"Don't make me try to break this door down – these old bones won't fare too well."

Half-afraid that his father just might follow through on his threat, Don dragged himself from the bed and unlocked the door. Without bothering to open it, he returned to the mattress and lay back down, keeping his back to the doorway. There was a quiet creak as Alan pushed the door open and then Don felt the mattress shift as the older man settled his weight next to his hip.

"Charlie tells me you're upset."

Don shrugged and tensed as he felt his father's hand settle on his shoulder.

"I know we haven't been spending that much time at home with you and I'm sorry about that."

Don heard the guilt in his father's voice and felt his stomach knot. _No, Dad, don't say it._

"I've got most of the weekend off, starting tomorrow afternoon," he told his son. "So does your brother. We were thinking that we should have some nice family time together. Relax, work on improving your speech – sound good?"

_No!_ Don silently screamed. _I've taken enough of your time. Just leave me alone._

"Don?" Alan asked, his voice full of concern. Don felt his father's hand on his cheek and his heart almost broke at how gentle the touch was.

"Sure," Don whispered, his voice barely audible. "Sound good."

"Okay," his father replied. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

Don nodded as he felt his father place a tender kiss on top of his head. Only after Alan had left the room and closed the door behind him did Don sigh and roll onto his back. He'd give his family the weekend, but after that he would go back to his apartment and deal with this on his own. _I won't let them waste any more of their time on me,_ he vowed silently. _I won't be a burden any more._

--

Charlie and Alan were both up and ready to leave the house at eight the next morning. Alan checked in on Don who was still sound asleep. Lightly running his hand through the dark hair, Alan smiled and whispered, "Don?" When his son didn't move, Alan decided it would be best to let him sleep and quietly left the room.

"Is he better this morning?" Charlie asked his father as he grabbed the two squares of toast that had just popped out of the toaster.

"Sleeping like a log," Alan told him. "That's probably the best thing for him now."

"Right," the professor nodded. "So, I'll see you back here around lunchtime?"

"Definitely."

"Good," Charlie smiled. "I'll call you if anything comes up." He turned to leave but stopped as his father cleared his throat.

"This is Don's time," he reminded his youngest son. "_Nothing_ had better come up."

"It shouldn't," Charlie assured him. "Just loose ends. And as long as they have everyone in custody, that should even be able to wait until Monday morning."

"That's what I want to hear." Alan swiped a piece of toast and grinned.

"Like father, like son," Charlie mumbled as he trotted out the front door, his father right on his heels. There was an LAPD cruiser waiting for Charlie, who climbed in and waved good-bye to his father. Alan locked the front door, climbed into his car and headed for his morning appointment.

Only after both Alan and the cruiser were out of sight did Randy Wilcox step out of the shadows in the backyard and stealthily sneak toward the back door.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

"Professor," Lieutenant Walker greeted the young man with a huge smile on his face. "Your information was dead on. We got the shipment and we rounded up ten gang members."

"I'm glad to hear it," Charlie told him.

Walker motioned for him to walk down the hallway with him. "Do you know that this shipment alone would have made them the most powerful drug gang in southern California?"

"I knew it was big, but I had no idea that it was _that _big."

"We missed the leader of the YKs, but we did round up his number two man." Walker stopped and gestured through the one-way glass at the man seated in interrogation. "Robert 'Rock' Williams. He's a dangerous fellow and he's going to be off the street for quite a while now."

"Glad to hear it," Charlie said as he eyed the heavy set man. "He's a scary-looking guy."

"Yes he is," Walker drawled. "We found some disturbing evidence in the back of his SUV, too. Looks like he's assaulted or killed someone recently."

"Any idea who?" Charlie asked as he checked his watch. _I really need to get back to Don._

"No," the older man shook his head. "Just found a shovel with some blood on it. We'll run the DNA on it and see if we get a hit."

Charlie jerked his head up and gave Walker a terrified look. "Shovel? Where is it?"

"In the evidence room being processed."

"I need to see it," the young man told him.

"It's just a shovel, Professor," Walker assured him.

"No, you don't understand," Charlie insisted, unable to clearly articulate his thoughts. "I _have_ to see it! _Now!_"

"Sure, Professor," Walker acquiesced. "Follow me."

--

Wilcox quietly jimmied the lock and slipped through the back door. He knew both men were out, but he didn't want to make any noise that might draw the neighbors' attention. He walked through the bottom floor of the house, looking for the best place to lie in wait. He knew the professor was responsible for LAPD's presence at the delivery, which led to him losing the shipment of a lifetime and his second in command.

One of the YKs at the scene had just barely escaped from the cops and laid low overnight. He'd put in a call to Wilcox early this morning and told him what happened. The gang banger had succumbed to a blinding rage and he'd rushed to the Eppes house with revenge on his mind. He'd had to change his course of action when he'd seen the cop car waiting outside and patiently watched until everyone had left.

Now his plan was to wait for the professor to come home and put a bullet in his brain – plain and simple. The old man's, too, if he came home first. As he wandered around the ground floor, Wilcox couldn't help but notice that there were some valuable looking collectibles scattered around the house. Deciding that he was owed some of the professor's money on top of his blood, Wilcox headed upstairs to case the rest of the house.

--

Don slowly drifted awake and groaned as he rolled onto his side. He'd been so exhausted the night before that he hadn't moved in his sleep. His muscles were screaming at him to stretch, but he just didn't feel like getting out of bed. _What's the point?_ he wondered to himself. _I can't do anything until Dad and Charlie get home. Might as well sleep in._

As he started to roll onto his other side for another few winks he felt something cool, round and metal pressing against the healing wound on his temple.

"Well, well," a cold voice snarled in his ear. "If it ain't the messenger that don't know how to deliver a message."

"Who?" Don asked, and was rewarded with a sharp jab to his head. He winced and closed his eyes against the throbbing in his skull as the man spoke again.

"You know who, you fool. Should've just delivered the message like we told you. But since you ain't no good at that, I guess you're fired." The man let out an evil laugh. "Literally."

Don felt the gun barrel press tighter against his head and held his breath as he waited for the shot to come.

--

Alan couldn't help the huge grin that was plastered on his face. His and Stan's client had finally accepted the most recent plans and told them to take off and have a great weekend. Alan had practically hugged the poor man before running to his car and speeding down the highway, making sure his cell phone remained off in case the client changed his mind. The meeting had only lasted about twenty-five minutes and Alan was looking forward to getting home early. He briefly thought about calling the house to wake Don, but decided he'd just surprise him when he got home.

_This is a sign,_ he thought to himself. _Everything is smooth sailing from now on._

--

"It's Don," Charlie whispered as he stared in horror at his father's bloody shovel. He whirled around to face Walker. "It was Don that this guy attacked!"

"How do you know that's your father's-"

"The inscription!" Charlie cut him off. "It's my father's and that's what they attacked Don with. Oh my God…"

"What?" Walker asked.

"There were five attackers," Charlie told him. "What if… What if they attacked Don as a warning to me? To stay off the case?"

"They're ruthless enough to do that," the older man agreed.

"And now that you've ruined their latest plan…" Charlie visibly paled. "You said the leader of the YKs wasn't at the bust?"

"Right," Walker nodded. "Just the number two man."

"Then he's still out there." Charlie took a deep breath. "What if he wants revenge? What if he goes after Don again? He's at home by himself right now."

"Calm down, son," Walker told him. "We don't know that anyone's planning to go after him again, but I'll get someone over to your house right now. Come on, we'll head on over there, too – lights and sirens blazing."

"Thanks," Charlie told him as dialed Megan's number into his phone. "I'm going to call Don's team."

"That's a good idea."

--

Don waited for an eternity before taking a deep breath and opening his eyes. He saw the gunman glaring down at him and waited quietly to see if he could figure out what was going on.

"This is all your fault," the gunman roared at Don. "All you had to do was tell that professor brother of yours to stay out of our business and that would have been it. But you're too stupid to even do that much, huh? Now his blood is going to be on your hands. Daddy's, too."

Don gathered his courage and decided to try speaking. "Not know."

"Not know?" the young man laughed. "What, are you like retarded? You sure didn't seem retarded that night at the gym. You faking?"

Deciding to try and lull the gunman into a false sense of security, Don added, "Hurt head. Not work."

"I told Rock he hit you too hard. Well, too bad for you. I still want my revenge."

"Kill all? Me only."

The young man let out a high pitched laugh. "You sound like a four year old, man! Rock really scrambled your brains."

"Me only," Don repeated, desperate to save his family. He shifted on the bed in an attempt to sit up and was rewarded with the gun being shoved in his face.

"Don't move," the gunman growled before walking the perimeter of the room. He opened the dresser drawers and began rifling through the contents looking for anything valuable. He found Don's wallet and pulled it out. "You carry much cash?" he asked as he flipped it open. His eyes widened and he glared at Don. "You're a Fed?"

"Was," Don whispered, knowing that one way or another he never would be again.

"So some damn _math_ professor messes up my racket and he's got a Fed for a brother. Unbelievable." He rummaged in the drawer again and pulled out Don's handcuffs. Grinning widely, he moved toward Don and gestured for him to roll over.

Don reluctantly obeyed and gritted his teeth as his hands were wrenched behind his back and tightly cuffed.

"Comfy?" the gunman sneered. "Let's go downstairs and wait for your brother. We'll have a nice, big reunion and then you two can die together."

--

Charlie leaned forward in the passenger seat of the squad car, silently urging the vehicle to go faster. He'd tried calling Don at home, but no one was answering the phone. That already had his nerves on edge and now he was worried about his father, too. He'd called him to let him know what was going on and to ask him to stay away from the house, but his father's cell kept going straight to voice mail. Worried, the professor had called Stan who'd informed him that the meeting had been incredibly short and that Alan had left to go home a long time ago.

"Can't we go any faster?" Charlie demanded.

"Fast as we can go," Walker calmly answered. "Your brother's team is on their way, too, right?'

"Yes," the professor answered. "Hopefully _they're_ going faster."

Walker bit back a retort, understanding that the young man beside him was worried for his family's safety. "We don't even know that Don is in trouble."

_But he is,_ Charlie thought silently. _I can feel it._

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

Don sat on the sofa and studied the gunman as he looked out the window by the front door. He knew he had to do something to stop him before he could hurt Charlie or his father. For the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, Don twisted his wrists behind him, trying to slip out of the handcuffs. He knew it was useless, but he had to try _something_.

"Well, well," he heard the gunman speak as a car pulled into the driveway. "Looks like Daddy's the first one home. Won't he be surprised."

Don's blood ran cold as he feared for his father's safety. He awkwardly stood up from the couch, drawing his captor's attention.

"Sit back down or I shoot you," he threatened.

Don – knowing the only thing that mattered was his family's safety – shook his head and yelled. "Danger, Dad!" as he charged the gunman.

The young man was so shocked that he didn't react as the heavier agent slammed into him, knocking the gun loose.

"Run, Dad!" Don yelled again, praying that his father could hear him through the heavy front door. He gasped as the gang banger punched him in the stomach, shoving him to the side as he scrambled to retrieve his gun.

Don let out a howl of anger and determination as he propelled himself forward, knocking the other man to the ground and driving a knee into his lower back. The gunman whipped around and slung a weak punch over his shoulder that just grazed Don's jaw. As he fought to regain his balance, Don saw that the young man was only a few feet from his gun. In one last desperate attempt, the agent threw himself forward and head butted the gang member so hard that they both dropped to the floor, unconscious.

--

Alan had been putting his key into the lock when he heard his son's voice call out. _Danger?_

"Donny!" he called through the front door.

"Run, Dad!"

Alan's mind pulled him in two different directions. Part of him knew he should obey his son's order, but the other part wanted to go help his son deal with whatever problem he was facing. Just as he'd decided to go inside, he heard sirens racing toward him and looked over his shoulder to find two LAPD cruisers and a government-issue SUV pulling into his driveway.

"Alan!" Megan yelled as she hopped out of the SUV. "Get away from the house!"

"Dad!" Charlie yelled as he leaped from the cruiser. "Don's in trouble!"

Alan stared in open mouthed shock as his brain tried to process the overwhelming amount of information all at once. He was so stunned that David's arm on his elbow nearly scared him to death.

"Step back," the agent whispered. "Let us check inside."

Alan nodded mutely as he was herded toward his youngest son to wait behind the SUV.

"Did you hear anything?" Charlie asked.

"Your brother was yelling for me to run," the older man said. "He said there was danger."

The two men fell silent, each one praying that Don would be emerging from the house any second now, safe and sound. Their hopes were dashed as David emerged from the house and gestured for them to approach.

Charlie was the first to reach the house, but only by a fraction of a second before his father. "Is he okay?" the young man pleaded.

"Calm down," David said with an easy smile. "He's a little banged up, but he's going to be fine. I've got an ambulance coming to check him out. Why don't you sit with him until it arrives?" He stepped aside and let the two men into the house, watching as they rushed to Don's side.

"Donny!" Alan called in relief as he sat on the step next to his son. "Are you okay?"

"Okay," Don gave him a weary but triumphant smile from where he leaned against the stair railing. "Good agent," he whispered.

"Best in the country," Alan replied as he pulled his son to lean against him. He laid his head on top of Don's where it rested on his shoulder.

"Super Agent," Don grinned at Charlie as his little brother sat on the step below him.

"Super is right," Charlie agreed as he rested his hand on his big brother's thigh.

"Good as new soon," Don stated with a confidence in his voice that had been absent for far too long.

"We all will be," Alan whispered thankfully as he placed his hand over Charlie's and relished the feel of his sons – alive and well – by his side.

--

The next afternoon found the three Eppes men sprawled out in the living room, a bowl of popcorn and a plate of nachos between them as they watched a Dodgers game on TV. They were all smiling and relaxed, Don even more so than the other men. Although he'd had to stay overnight in the hospital for observation, he hadn't suffered any more injuries and was released immediately following breakfast.

His smile grew even larger as a Dodger hit a grand slam to put them ahead by three runs. _My team's winning,_ he thought happily. _And I am, too._ After defeating Wilcox – and saving his family's lives in the process – Don's spirits and confidence had soared and he finally felt like he would be able to beat the aphasia and get on with his life.

"Nacho?" his father asked him as held up the plate.

"Please," Don answered as he grabbed a couple of chips. "Dodgers finally winning."

"About time, too," Alan replied as he held out the nachos to Charlie.

"Thanks, Dad," the youngest Eppes said as he popped a chip in his mouth. "Not to be a pessimist, but there's still four innings left."

"Patience, Charlie," Don said.

"Patience?" Alan laughed. "You learn a new vocabulary word?"

"Yeah – something I heard old man say." Don winked at Charlie as their father rolled his eyes.

"I get no respect around here," Alan playfully groused.

A knock at the door brought their playful banter to an end. Charlie hopped up and answered the door. "Hey guys," he said cheerfully. "Come on in."

Don watched as Charlie led Megan, Colby, and David into the living room. "Hey," Don beamed at them as he gestured to the food. "Nachos? Popcorn?"

"Beer?" Colby asked.

"In the fridge," Charlie told him. "I'll grab one for you. You guys?"

"Sure," David nodded.

"Ice water, please," Megan smiled. "So, Don, how are you feeling?"

"Good," he responded. "Back at work soon."

"In a few of weeks," Alan quietly reminded him.

Don shrugged and rolled his eyes. "Soon. What bring here?"

"Brings you here," Charlie said as he returned and handed out drinks.

"Brings… you here," Don corrected.

"Lieutenant Walker let us have a shot at Wilcox and Williams," Megan informed him. "Wilcox clammed up, but Williams sang a beautiful chorus."

"Really?" Don asked. "You manage that?"

"Colby and David worked him pretty well," she answered.

"Yeah," Colby laughed. "Convinced Williams that our attempt to bust Wilcox was part of a setup to get him to accept the delivery. The guy actually believed Wilcox turned State's Evidence."

"He buy that?" Don asked in disbelief.

"Big time," David said as he took a seat in a spare chair. "He was more than willing to tell us his side of the story about what happened." He glanced questioningly at Charlie and Alan. "This is still case related. Don, you okay with them hearing this?"

Don heard the warning tone in his voice and opened his mouth to speak, but his father beat him to it. "He's fine with us hearing this." Alan looked at his oldest son and gave him a hard look. "Right?"

"Guess I am," Don shrugged.

"Okay," David said doubtfully. "If you're sure." When no one spoke, he continued. "Wilcox was the current leader of the YKs, and Williams was his second in command. Turns out they'd lost a couple of drug shipments to LAPD recently and they were getting dangerously close to going out of business." David watched Charlie very carefully as he spoke again. "They weren't sure why the police were all over their every move lately, until one of the members saw a news story on TV."

Don's chest tightened and he looked at his younger brother. He was surprised to see Charlie with a rather nonchalant look on his face.

As the silent pause began to grow uncomfortable, Colby quickly jumped in to end it. "That's when they decided the best way to stop the LAPD was to stop the man helping them. They followed you for the next few days, Charlie – to and from school, what you did on your spare time, who you spent the most time with…"

"They were after me?" Charlie finally spoke.

"They wanted you to stop, yes," Colby said. "But they were afraid that with your newfound celebrity and working so closely with the LAPD, attacking you was too risky." Colby gestured at Don. "They'd seen you two spending a lot of time together those few days and figured out you were Charlie's brother, so they decided to go after you to send a message."

"They _chose_ go after agent?" Don asked in shock.

"They didn't know you were FBI," David clarified. "You were on vacation that week, remember? They just knew you were Charlie's brother. Once the decision was made, they followed you one evening and waited outside while you were at Steve's Gym. When the receptionist stepped away and they didn't see anyone else in the workout area with you, they made their move."

"Still no remember," Don said, his tone one of frustration.

"Williams said they threatened to kill the receptionist and anyone else that came in if you didn't cooperate. You – being who you are – went along with them." Colby gave his boss a look of admiration. "Sally at the gym says you have a free lifetime membership and her eternal gratitude."

"Okay," Don said distractedly as he wracked his brain trying to remember anything at all about the night of his attack.

"Williams said the plan was to knock you around – which they did in an alley on YK turf – and then take you to Charlie's house, tie you up on display and leave a warning note telling Charlie to back off or else." David paused. "He said they didn't intend to kill you, but things went wrong."

"I'll say," Alan whispered.

Colby shook his head. "They forgot to bring any rope or anything to leave a warning note on. Real class act, these morons." He looked at Don. "They were arguing about what to do when you got up and made a break for the door. I guess you were trying to break in and call for help, and that's when Williams hit you with the shovel to stop you."

Don absent-mindedly ran his hand over the healing wound. "No remember."

"That's normal," Megan assured him. "Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on how you look at it – you probably never will get those memories back."

"Right," Don nodded. "Keep going."

Colby nodded. "Williams said they were really panicking about what to do with you and then they heard a car pulling up."

"That was us getting home from the movie," Charlie stated.

"Right," David said. "So Williams said Wilcox told Don to tell his brother that this was a warning to stop working with the LAPD, or else someone would die next time. Only…"

"No remember," Don whispered. He shook his head and pushed the feelings of guilt to the side.

"Right," Megan spoke softly.

"They thought it had worked," Colby said as he snatched a nacho. "Charlie stopped consulting, they got a couple of shipments through – life was good for them."

"And then I went back to work," Charlie sighed as he covered his face with his hands.

"And helped the police bust the biggest shipment the YKs had in years," David added. "Wilcox decided to get revenge. He came over here intent on killing you, Charlie."

"He would have killed everyone he found here," Colby informed them. "But Don foiled that plan."

Seeing the weary looks on all three of the Eppes' faces, Megan stated in a firm voice, "You don't have to worry anymore. Those two creeps are going to prison for a long, long time. And the rest of the YKs are leaderless and financially broke." She put her best, brightest smile on her face. "It really is over, guys."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

"Charlie?"

The young man heard the concern in his brother's voice, but chose to keep working on his backbreaking task.

"Charlie? What doing?"

Charlie let out a silent sigh. _Just leave me alone,_ he prayed. _Please, I need to deal with this on my own._ A hand on his forearm stilled his movements and he dragged his gaze up to Don's face.

"Charlie? What wrong?"

"Nothing," he answered. "Just thought I'd clean up a little."

Don eyed the backyard in the dim light coming from the back stoop. "Middle of night." He knelt beside the younger man and leaned against him. "Okay?"

Charlie let out a huge sigh. "No, not really."

"Not your fault," Don told him. "Didn't know."

Charlie wryly grinned at his older brother. "Right. It's not my fault. They never made any threats prior to attacking you, so I had no way to know."

"See?"

"Then why do I feel like it's my fault?" Charlie asked sharply as he returned to scrubbing the blood stain on the steps.

Don stilled his movements and gently took the scouring pad from Charlie's hand. "Because you… you." Don grabbed his elbow and led him to the bench in the yard. The two men sat on the bench, leaning back and gazing up at the stars in the night sky.

"I know it's not my _fault_," Charlie whispered. "But it still hurts – deep inside – that I'm the reason they attacked you."

"I know," Don spoke carefully. "How I feel… you work on case."

"Really? But I've never been hurt."

"No, glad. Russian case." Don took a shaky breath and slowly exhaled. "Found guys come to house… you, Dad maybe hurt… Scared bad."

"Scared?" Charlie asked. "You?"

"Right." Don studied the lawn and stifled a yawn. "You and Dad are… my… life. Can't lose you."

"That's how I feel, too." Charlie nodded at the stain on the steps. "I thought if I could just get rid of it… You know."

"Yeah," Don agreed. "Tomorrow early. I help." He gave Charlie a warm smile. "Together, right?"

"Always," Charlie smiled back. "Thanks, Don."

"Anytime, Charlie." Don draped an arm around his little brother's shoulders and gave him a gentle squeeze. "Charlie?"

"What?"

"I am… proud… of you. Never stop… doing… what you do."

Charlie was touched by the concentrated effort his brother put into speaking, making sure to get the words out right. "That means a lot to me, Don," he whispered, tightly embracing the older man. "Thanks."

--

Two and a half weeks later Don was back at work, sitting at his desk and glaring at a pile of case files. "I hate paperwork," he grumbled to himself.

"Yeah, I know," Megan said as she appeared by his side, startling him so badly that he almost knocked the whole stack off his desk.

"Geez, Reeves," he groused. "Sneak up on a guy, why don't you?"

"Sorry," she laughed, without a trace of regret in her voice.

"I am still your boss, you know. A little respect?"

"Of course," she nodded and grew sincere. "Just look on the bright side – only two weeks of desk work, and then you can get cleared for field duty again."

"Two weeks," Don sighed. "That's two weeks too long."

"I know you're frustrated, Don," she told him. "But you had some pretty severe injuries to come back from, and you don't want to rush back into the field and relapse. You've got to be-"

"Patient," he cut her off as he rolled his eyes. "If I had a nickel for every time I heard that word…" He shook his head as he noticed the report in her hand. "Oh no, did I…?"

"Two places," she told him as she opened the folder and placed it on his desk. "The third suspect remained in the get away card," she read aloud.

"Car," Don groaned. "I knew that."

"I know," Megan assured him as she patted his shoulder. "And, 'The first suspect detained local police after they identified his vehicle as the one described in the BOLO.' I think you meant-"

"Was detained by," Don corrected. "You know, just when I think I've kicked this thing's-"

"Hey boss!" Colby called out as he and David approached the desk, their arms full of food. "Lunch break."

"I'm starved," Don grinned as he rose and followed them toward the break room. Just as he was about to enter after them, Megan stopped him with a hand on his forearm. He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head.

"You have kicked it's butt," she quietly assured him. "There are going to be some minor, lingering effects for a while, but you are back to being the Don Eppes you were before the attack. Don't ever think that you're not, okay?"

Seeing the sincerity in her eyes, he slowly smiled and nodded gratefully. "I needed to hear that, Megan. Thanks."

"Anytime, Don." A twinkle appeared in her eye and she nodded to the two agents in the break room. "Do me a favor in return?"

"Anything."

"Next time you're out on leave or vacation," she began, her grin growing wider. "I get your desk."

--

Don swallowed nervously as he stood on Charlie's front porch. _Tonight's the night,_ he thought to himself. _If I can make it through this, then I know I'm one hundred percent better._ He took a deep breath and opened the door, a pleasant aroma wafting through the house to greet him. "Dad? Charlie?"

"Dining room!" Charlie called out.

Don followed the sound of his brother's voice and smiled as he found a bounty of snack foods laid out on one end of the table. "Whoa, Dad," he whistled. "That's a feast."

"I anticipate a long night," Alan sighed with amusement in his eyes. "I know how you two can be."

"Us?" Charlie asked in the most angelic tone he could muster. "I'm sure Don and I have no idea what you're talking about, father dearest."

"Right," Alan rolled his eyes. "I'll go get it."

Don eyed Charlie silently as their father left them alone. Charlie stared back with a cocky grin on his face. "You ready, bro?"

"Better believe it," Don growled back.

"When I see it," the younger man countered.

"Knock it off, you two," Alan playfully scolded as he reappeared with a long, thin box in his hands. "Take your positions."

Don and Charlie sat across from each other as Alan took the seat at the head of the dining table.

"I'm showing no mercy, Don," Charlie warned.

"Neither am I," he retorted.

Alan chuckled and cleared his throat. "Okay, ground rules. No yelling, name calling, or trash talking – got it?" His sons both nodded. "We'll play three rounds and best two wins."

"Right," Charlie agreed.

"Loser buys dinner for the next two nights," Don added.

"Okay, now that we all understand, let's get started." He placed the box on the table, opened it and removed the contents. "Oh, I almost forgot the most important part." Their father stood up, walked to the bookshelves and removed a large, heavy book. He returned to the table and sat back down, placing it in front of his youngest son.

The professor nervously eyed the book and licked his lips. "Is that…" he trailed off as Don started laughing.

"Yes, Charlie," Alan chuckled. "It's a reliable dictionary."

The End


End file.
